


Did You Not Flame, & I Catch Fire?

by onebatch2batch



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 37,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebatch2batch/pseuds/onebatch2batch
Summary: Did we not—did you not flame, and I catch fire?— A. S. Byatt, PossessionKastle Tumblr Prompts/Vignettes #1





	1. High School Reunion

Asked by anon: Karen taking frank to her high school reunion

\--

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Frank parks the car and gives Karen an amused smile. “You said you wanted to, remember?”

She grimaces, twisting her fingers in her lap nervously. “Yeah, but what if someone recognizes you, Frank? What if we walk into my high school reunion and someone says, _hey, isn’t that Frank Castle?_ and someone else says, _it totally is, we should call the cops,_ and then you get thrown in jail–”

He reaches out and grabs her hand gently, bringing it to his lips. They’d driven in from New York and her anxiety had only built throughout the trip.“It’s been two years, Karen. And if no one in New York has recognized me yet–”

“There was that one guy at the grocery store…”

“–then no one in Vermont will, either,” he finishes firmly. 

Karen looks at him for a long moment, then sighs. “You’re right. I’m just…nervous. After my brother passed away, it was awful. People I didn’t even know walked up to me in the halls to apologize, people whispered behind my back when they thought I couldn’t hear it…” She looks at the building in front of them, then nods. “Okay, let’s do it.”

He gives her a hand reassuring squeeze, then offers her a wide, teasing smile. “It’ll be fine, yeah? And isn’t the point of these damn things to show off how well off you are anyways, oh big shot New York journalist?”

She gives him a look, but there’s amusement replacing her nervousness. “Yeah, and I think I did pretty well in the date department…” She leans forward to give him a soft kiss, smiling. 

Frank curls a hand in her hair, humming approvingly, before he pulls away. “You’re putting it off. Come on, let’s go.”

Karen grumbles but concedes, stepping out of the vehicle. Frank offers his arm and they join the crowd of people filing their way into the high school auditorium, arm in arm. Them against the world, just like always.


	2. Blanket Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompted: How about a fic where Karen and frank are watching something dumb on tv, like a reality show or an awards ceremony

Frank walks into Karen’s apartment late one Friday night, expecting her usual: sitting on the couch, computer on her lap as she finishes up a piece for Ellison, wine bottle already opened on the counter. Today when he walks in, he’s greeted with an entirely different sight. 

“Karen?” he hazards at the disaster zone of pillows on blankets that are covering her living room. 

Her hand pokes out towards the bottom and gestures him over. “Bring the wine,” she calls, before her hand slinks back into the fort of blankets. His lips twitch with amusement and he does as asked, bringing a bottle from the fridge and a second glass for himself. When he reaches the fort, she parts the blankets and grins up at him. 

“You coming in or what?” she asks, holding out a hand. He offers the wine and then crouches down to look inside. She’s set up the television on some god awful reality television show from the sounds of it, and there’s a space just big enough to fit him beside her. The rest of covered in pillows, blankets, couch cushions, and anything else she could possibly find. 

She beckons again, impatiently, and he ducks his head to climb in, settling next to her. He watches as she pours a glass for him. 

“What’s the occasion?” he asks when she passes it over, curiously. He’s never seen anyone other than his kids build a honest to god fort in the living room, but the excitement on her face is kind of endearing. 

Karen laughs quietly, looking at him with flushed cheeks. “It’s my brother’s birthday,” she explains. “When he was…alive, he’d beg to make a blanket fort on his birthday, every year without fail. We’d find every blanket in the house and sit in the fort all night, watching stupid cartoons or reality tv.”

Her voice is fond but sad, and he sees the way her eyes mist over before she takes a sip of her wine. 

Frank raises his glass slightly, surprising her. He can see this is important to her, and he wouldn’t dare do anything other than honor his memory. She’d been nothing but understanding about his family, and he was determined to be the same for her. “Looks like we’ve got a serious tradition to uphold, huh?” 

Her smile, grateful and happy and sad all at once, makes his heart leap into his throat. She clinks their glasses and sits back against her pillow. “Yeah, we do. Any preferences? I’ve got RuPaul on right now.”

Frank blinks, unfamiliar. “I don’t know what that is,” he tells her honestly, and is rewarded by her sly grin. 

“Give it a couple hours. You’ll be hooked.”

Frank huffs, but leans back and turns his gaze to the screen. “Alright–but eventually we’ll have to order some take out.”

She grins, turns up the volume and rests her head on his shoulder. “Deal.”


	3. Power Outage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous requested: kastle cuddles during a storm that knocks the power out!

Three months after Frank Castle rearranges his best friend’s face at the carousel, he finds himself standing barefoot in Karen Page’s kitchen. Really, he should have seen this coming; he and Karen had always had _something_ , from that moment in the hospital room. And it’s not like he’s eager to move on from Maria, but he’s not fighting this thing anymore, either. He can’t–and as Curtis had so eloquently put it, “ _Come on, man, you think Maria’d be pissed at you for living your life while you still got it?_ ”

So here he is, standing in Karen’s kitchen, draining spaghetti noodles. He can hear her moving around behind his back, setting silverware down, filling wine glasses. He makes two plates of the spaghetti (his mother’s sauce recipe Karen had almost begged him to make, the ingredients still coming to him just as easily as loading a gun did) and sets them down. 

“Frank, this smells amazing,” she tells him, her eyes lighting up. 

He tries not to look too proud, settles into the chair across from her. “Glad you think so.”

They begin to eat and Karen tells him about a story she’s working on about a big company out of Hell’s Kitchen that’s caught in an embezzling scandal. He watches the emotions flicker across her face–excitement when she mentions leads, frustration when they don’t pan out, annoyance at the corruption, elation that it’s coming to light. Frank is content to listen and eat, occasionally offering up a comment, but mostly listening and watching. Enjoying the peace of this moment. 

That is, until the light flicker. Karen blinks at him once, twice, and then there’s a crash of thunder and rain pelts the window without delay. The lights flicker again and then go out, plunging the room into darkness save for the occasional flash of lightning.

Karen sighs, then lets out a small laugh. “Sorry, I thought this might happen.” Her phone illuminates briefly as she moves around the kitchen, searching for a lighter. “The forecast called for it…and this happens anytime it thunderstorms.” She begins to light candles around the room, casting them in a warm glow. 

Frank watches her move around the apartment, calling out. “Need help?”

She declines his offer and returns to her seat once enough have been lit. She gives him a tiny, apologetic smile. “At least we finished cooking first, huh?”

Frank returns her smile easily. “I don’t mind.”

They fall back into easy conversation, eventually pushing their plates to the side and sipping at their wine. After a long while, Frank stretches his stiff back and realizes Karen has her fingers pulled into her sleeves, and her arms crossed. She looks cold and determined to not make a big deal out of it. Frank frowns, realizing the temperature had dropped tremendously without his noticing. Lightning flashes, illuminating the room for a brief moment, and he stands, holding out a hand. “Come on,” he tells her, “You’re freezing.”

Karen blinks but takes his offered hand, trailing after him. Frank sits her on the couch and disappears before returning with her comforter, draping it over her shivering form. She doesn’t object, just pulls one side tight around her and opens the other arm expectantly, waiting for him to join her. 

The hesitation on his face makes her smile, reassuring. “Come on, you’re warmer than I am. I can use all the help I can get, here.”

Frank can’t deny her; he sits a careful distance away and wraps the other end of the blanket around his shoulders. Karen has other plans, though, and she moves closer, pulling his arm around her and nestling up against his side with a sigh. “How are you this warm?” she mumbles, resting her head on his shoulder. 

Frank feels his heart leap into his throat and he swallows thickly. He can’t help but smile as the soft smell of her shampoo hits him. “I don’t get cold too easy,” he says, rubbing her arm to try and help. 

She smiles up and him, her gaze soft and careful. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, Frank. Thank you.”

“No need for that,” he mutters, but can’t help his smile. “But I am, too.”

And if Karen reaches over to grab his hand, intertwining their fingers, well, Frank’s glad for that too. 

**_OR ALTERNATIVELY:_ **

That is, until the light flicker. Karen blinks at him once, twice, and then there’s a crash of thunder and rain pelts the window without delay. The lights flicker again and then go out, plunging the room into darkness save for the occasional flash of lightning.

Karen sighs, then lets out a small laugh. “Sorry, I thought this might happen.” Her phone illuminates briefly as she moves around the kitchen, searching for a lighter. “The forecast called for it and this happens anytime it thunderstorms.” She begins to light candles around the room, casting them in a warm glow.

Frank watches her move around the apartment, calling out. “Need help?”

She declines his offer, and returns to her seat once enough have been lit. She gives him a tiny, apologetic smile. “At least we finished cooking first, huh?”

Frank returns her smile easily. “I don’t mind.”

She nods and glances around, then her face lights up mischievously. She leans forward and bats those long eyelashes at him. Her lips curl deviously and her eyes warm. “Pretty romantic, don’t you think?”

Frank is halfway done with his spaghetti, and she’s looking at him like that, and suddenly he’s hungry for something else. He takes a drink of his wine, looks away, looks back. He’s not sure what to say; it’s been a long time since he’d actually flirted with a woman and felt like it may go beyond just that. Karen’s looking at him with a peculiar gleam in her eye–nervousness, excitement, caution, desire. Finally, he settles down his wine glass and feels his lips twitch up. 

“Least I made you dinner first, hm?”

She’s not expecting the joke; it causes her face to go slack in shock, and then she grins, finishes her wine glass and stands. Frank feels the anticipation, then anxiousness, coil in his chest. She comes around the island and he turns on the chair, watching. Waiting. 

Karen steps between his open legs and leans forward, her lips a hairsbreadth from his own. “Was that a joke or an offer, Frank?” she murmurs, glancing up to meet his gaze, holding it. 

Frank smirks. “Both,” he tells her honestly, and his last coherent thought is that maybe they should put away the food first, and then she’s got her fingers tangled in his hair and he’s got two armfuls of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really not a huge fan of this one, and I couldn't decide which ending I preferred. Hope you enjoy! You can follow me on tumblr @ onebatch2batch <3


	4. Birthday Bash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous requested: fluff for when karen surprises frank for his birthday:)

Karen Page has always been shockingly good with dates. She remembers the most obscure ones that no one else ever would--her first kiss, her first period, the first time she won money on a scratch off lottery ticket--with relative ease. She never writes birthdays or anniversaries down because she never forgets, they just come to her like any other thought. Easy.

That’s why when November 15th rolls around, she’s more than prepared for Frank Castle’s birthday. 

It has taken two weeks of schemes and secrets; Karen knows he isn’t someone who would want something big for his birthday, and he was still recovering from Russo, so she plans appropriately. 

The plan starts simple enough-- first, she makes a guest list. She calls David Lieberman. It takes longer to track down his phone number than it does to get him agree to her plan, and within a couple hours she’s got a solid list of people to attend. Nothing that would be too much, just a few people she knows are important to him, from the little things he’s told her. 

Next, she invites him out under a ruse. The morning of, she calls him as she’s booting up her work computer. He answers on the second ring.

“Hi,” she greets warmly, “happy birthday.”

She can hear the smile in his voice. “You know about that, huh?

“Investigative journalist, remember?” He grunts knowingly and she clears her throat. “Any big plans for tonight?”

He hums, soft and low into her ear. It sends shivers down her spine but she forces herself to focus and remain casual. “Nah,” he says after a moment, “guessin’ you do, though.”

“I was thinking we could just get drinks, you and me. Josie’s?”

Surprise colors his voice. “Sure.”

The plan is in action. Karen grins. “See you at 8.”

\--

Frank’s birthday happens to fall on a Friday, and when Karen gets to the bar a little around seven, she has to fight her way to get to a table in the corner. Sitting there already is David Lieberman whose leg is jiggling nervously. He sees her and his face lights up in greeting. 

“Hey, Karen.” He reaches out and shakes her hand. “I’m David, nice to finally meet you. This was, uh, really cool. Of you to do.”

His easy smile and genuine words make her beam. “Thanks, David. I’ve heard a lot about you, I’m glad you could make it.” That’s only half right--she’d researched a lot on him back when Frank asked her, and he’s told her a couple things here and there.

He says something about Sarah and how she’ll be late due to a babysitter mix-up, and then there’s a man at her shoulder. She turns in surprise. 

“Lieberman,” the man says wryly, taking a seat. “Glad to see you’re still kicking.” He turns to Karen and offers a smile; he’s a handsome man with a relaxed demeanor. The tension drains from her shoulders almost immediately. “Hi, you must be Karen. I’m Curtis Hoyle, thanks for the call. This was a great idea.”

Forty minutes later, the most eclectic group of people are seated around her. Sarah is drinking her second glass of wine, seated next to her husband. David is telling Curtis a story about one drunken night in the bunker, gesturing wildly. Dinah Madani, looking for all the world like she’s baffled as to how she got there, is listening in with amusement. Her initial _a-ha, I knew you were involved_ had long since worn off and she had started to finally relax. Karen settles back to listen to the conversation around her, waiting impatiently for Frank to arrive, absorbing everything she can. It’s like opening up a book of his secrets, being surrounded by the people he cares for. Each one is a reflection of his own character, and the longer she sits there the more sure she is that this was the right choice. 

Seven fifty-five rolls around and Karen stands, gathering their attention. “I’m going to wait outside,” she says, counting on his usual punctualness. She gets several agreements before she makes her way through the bar and goes to stand outside, breathing in the chilly night air. She’s glad for it--the bar is toasty and the couple beers she’s had are warming her from the inside out. 

Karen leans against the side of the building and pulls out her phone, prepared to wait. 

“Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

Frank’s a couple feet away, leaning on the wall. He’s watching her in amusement, arms crossed. Karen flushes and walks closer, trying for innocence. She shoves her phone in her pocket. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, but her grin gives it away. She stops just short of him and laughs, placing a hand on his arm. “How long have you been here?”

“Before you,” he snorts. “Saw Lieberman walk in. I figured you were plannin’ somethin’.”

She fidgets, suddenly nervous. “Is this...okay? I mean, I thought you’d like it, but--”

Frank straightens and comes closer, in her space. His smile is soft and warm, and he pulls her into a hug before she can register what’s happening. They stand that way for several long moments as she breathes in his shampoo and wraps her arms around his shoulders tightly. He backs up after a moment, shy but pleased. “It’s great, Karen, thank you. I...I really appreciate this.”

She leans up, presses a kiss to his cheek. When she pulls away, he looking at her in surprise, as well as an entirely new emotion that sends heating pooling in her belly. “Y-you’re welcome. We should, um, go in. Right?”

“Hang on,” he says, grabbing her sleeve before she can pull away completely. He ducks his head and presses his lips to her carefully, giving her time to deny him, if she wants. She doesn’t--she presses against him eagerly, opening up to him with a soft sigh. It’s a long time coming, and _exactly_ how she imagined it would feel, kissing him. His hands come up to cage her cheeks and she fists her hands in his coat, thoughts turning to mush. 

A man exits the bar and jeers drunkenly, forcing them apart. Karen steadies herself as Frank laughs the guy off, her heartbeat pounding. “Okay,” she says shakily, “okay, now we really need to go in before we don’t go in at all.”

Frank turns his gaze back to her and smirks. His eyes are sparkling mischievously. “Would that be so bad?”

She huffs, yanking on his sleeve. “You try hearing David’s moose story five times in a row--I suffered for this. Let’s go, birthday boy.”

He laughs, letting her drag him inside. “Yes, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos fuel my life <3


	5. Limited Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @pagesandcastles asked: Karen and Frank undercover at a gala party or something fancy like that (because I dream of frank’s reaction to karen in a dress and of Karen’s reaction to frank in a suit)

Karen is an investigative, criminal journalist, which means she’s faced more danger in the last three years than most people will in their entire lives. And she will continue to face this danger in order to uncover the dark secrets of the city that she loves and hates all in the same thought. She knows this. 

She also know that some stories are too dangerous to investigate alone. 

Three days ago Karen had finally, finally gotten a solid lead on a piece she was putting together on a sex trafficking ring. There was a charity event that was being held downtown, and many of the key players were going to be there networking. If she could just get one of them to say something incriminating, do something out of the ordinary, she would have enough to start her accusations. Ellison won’t let her publish with anything less, claiming it’s too risky. 

Which is why Karen finds herself taping a wire under her clothes, snug against the underlining of her bra. She fiddles with the buttons on it, making sure it’s in place, before turning and surveying her closet. It’s an incredibly upscale event, and she’s had to pull a lot of strings to get an invite for herself and a plus one. And who better suited to scope out bad guys with her than Frank Castle. (He’d agreed readily, more to keep her out of danger than agreeing with her plan.)

Karen paws through her clothes with a frown, digging deep in her closet, before finding the perfect dress. 

A slow smile spreads over her face and she yanks it off the hanger, slipping it on. It’s a floor length gown in a dark maroon. She bought it years ago and is pleased to find it still fits like a glove, the lace top hugging her tightly. It’s a deep v, but not enough she’s afraid someone will see the wire, hidden beneath her bra. The back is open and the waist cinched, dropping down to the floor with a long slit up the side. 

It’s a gorgeous dress and she’s more than a little excited to wear it, despite the reason why. She tells herself that she’s not just as excited to see Frank’s reaction and steps into the bathroom to finish her hair.   
—   
At five o clock, she gets a text. 

_I’m downstairs. Want me to come up?_

_No, be right down._ She adjusts her dress and looks at herself in the mirror nervously. If she’s being honest, the possibility of being caught by bad guys isn’t the only thing making her heart rate pick up.

Frank’s second text comes through seconds later. _Don’t forget the wire_

It’s a joke, but she feels for it anyway and is both reassured and panicked by the feeling of it through the fabric of her dress. This is a big deal--if they get caught because of her stupid mistake and somehow live, she’d never hear the end of it. She takes a deep, steadying breath and grabs her purse, heading downstairs. It’s chilly out, but surprisingly warm for the time of year, and she keeps her jacket on her arm. When she steps out of the building and her eyes land on Frank, leaning against the side of his car, her heart stutters to an abrupt stop. 

She’s seen him in a suit before, at the trial. That’s nothing compared to this. He’s in a jet black suit, his tie clip shining in the setting sun. He’s trimmed his beard and his hair is curling against his forehead. She looks him up and down, feeling her cheeks warm at the sight. He gives her a slow smile, straightening. 

“I’ll be damned,” he says as she comes closer, smiling teasingly, “I’ll tag along on every charity event if you’re dressed like that.” 

“You said this was a bad idea,” she points out, trying to collect herself. It’s hard--with his eyes twinkling like that and his shoes shining and one long curl falling over his forehead--but she manages. 

He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve discovered it’s damn near impossible to talk you out of anythin’. Might as well accept it.” He opens the door and she pauses before climbing in. 

“You look great, too,” she tells him softly, appreciating the flush on his cheeks at the compliment, before ducking into the car to hide her smile. 

Even if she doesn’t get anything substantial tonight, she’ll go to sleep happy with the way he’s looking at her as he closes the door. 

—

The charity event is gorgeous and outrageous, of course. There are servers walking around with trays of champagne, buffets of foods she’d only ever dreamed of eating, and some of the richest people she’s ever seen gathered in one place. She’s only a little sad that she’s not here as an actual guest—until Frank places her hand on his arm and guides her through the room, whispering into the shell of her ear. 

“What’s the plan?” 

His breath sends shivers down her spine. She swallows and looks around the room. “I was just going to wing it,” she says casually. Frank stops and stares at her, exasperation plain on his face. 

“Karen,” he groans. 

She gives him a wide eyed look. “Just relax, it’ll be fine. We’ll chat some people up and be sneaky about it.” 

He gives her a look that clearly says it’s not going to work. She waves her hand. “It’ll work. Promise.”

—

It doesn’t work. In fact, everything goes south very, very quickly. 

Karen had been in the middle of speaking to an older couple, not an hour into the event, when Frank came close, nose bumping her ear, hand on her shoulder. “Three o clock. Gun. Coming closer. We gotta go.” 

Apparently the source she had been given was a trap--or that’s what she guessed, anyways. They knew she was looking into it and decided it was time to shut her up. Frank and Karen excused themselves quickly and headed for the exit, but it was blocked by two men in suits who most definitely were waiting for them, eyes scanning the room. Frank had steered her away and up the stairs, eyes dark and angry. 

Now, his hand is on the small of her back, leading her through the halls of the building. The transformation from Frank Castle _charity event date_ , to Frank Castle _The Punisher_ had nearly bowled her over. The change in him is plain as night and day—it’s hard to reconcile the soft man who gives her flowers and has weekly late night dinners with her, with this cold, calculated war hero. 

They’re standing at the top of the stairs, and she can hear footsteps around the corner, as well as the static of a radio. “Frank, what now?” She whispers, anxious. She knows he can handle himself, has seen it firsthand, but the last thing she wants is for him to get involved in someone else’s war ( _her’s_ , her brain supplies helpfully) when he finally had just begun to heal from his own. 

He grabs her hand and pulls her away, down the hall. There’s a small broom closet and he jiggles the knob, then jerks his head. “Get in,” he says, his voice like gravel. She does and he begins to close the door; she slaps a palm against it and stares at him. 

“Are you _crazy_? Get in here.” 

He scowls. “I’m gonna lure them off. And you’re gonna stay here until they leave and then get the hell out of here.”

Her eyes flash angrily. “ _No_.”

 

The footsteps are coming closer. Karen reaches out, grabbing his tie, and tugs him in with her. Caught off guard, he stumbles forward into her and the door closes softly behind him. The darkness is sudden but she can feel the heat of his glare, light or not. “Fuck, Kare--” He doesn’t finish because she slaps her hand over his mouth haphazardly, feeling his rough stubble under the pads of her fingers. They’re so incredibly close in the small space, and she feels every point of contact with stark clarity, but she does her best to focus on their current problem. 

Someone shouts in the distance. Karen grabs his arm and holds her breath, listening intently as doors open around them. Someone comes closer and she feels Frank tense against her, and then there’s a shout and the footsteps stop, and then they’re alone. 

Karen lets out a sigh of relief, sagging against the wall. She loosens her grip on his arm, dropping her hand from his mouth, and listens to his slow, even breathing as she gathers her thoughts. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into the darkness. “This was a bad idea, you were right.” 

He doesn’t answer and she strains her eyes, trying to see some kind of expression on his face. “Frank?” He’s deathly still and she reaches up again, touching his cheek hesitantly. He turns his head away and she winces. “Are you...angry?” 

Finally, he lets out a long, slow breath. “Goddamn,” he mutters, his words a hot puff of air against her lips. “Goddamn, Karen.” 

_Now he’s being dramatic,_ she thinks, annoyed. Sure, it was her fault, she didn’t scope out her lead enough, but that didn’t mean he had a right to be this upset with her. She straightens and glares through the dark. “Listen, Frank,” she hisses, “I know you’re pissed but—“

“Stop,” he says, strangled. “It’s not—...that.” 

She blinks, waiting, but he doesn’t say anything else, just shifts away from her as much as possible in the limited space, and Karen realizes with a flush what’s happening. “Oh.” 

“Yeah. Oh.” She hears his swallow, feels his hand come up to push off the wall but grazes her shoulder instead. It lingers there for a moment, heat gathering under his palm and spreading through her side. She gives him just enough time to realize that she’s coming closer before she presses her front to him, turning her head slightly to press her forehead to his. He’s like a statue against her. 

“This okay?” She murmurs, knowing that this is a stupid idea, that they should be leaving like, ten minutes ago, but she can’t help herself. 

“We should go,” he says in response, so quiet, but his fingers trail up her neck to land on her cheek. “We should go now.” 

“Yeah, we should.” Karen waits for him to move and when he doesn’t she smiles. “Frank?” 

He doesn’t answer, just dips down and catches her lips with his. The kiss is short and sweet, his fingers caressing her cheeks in the darkness before he pulls away. He grabs her hand and squeezes lightly. “We really have to go.” 

“Okay.” Karen hears him shift away and grasp at the door handle. “But we’re talking about this later.” 

His laugh makes her heart flip. “You got it. Come on. And take those damn heels off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr! (onebatch2batch) and like always, any kind of love makes my day <3


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt request by juney-chan on tumblr: (from what Jon actually said to Deb) "Love you gangsta."
> 
> I took some liberties. Have some established!Kastle <3

It had started off as a quiet Saturday; Frank had made breakfast and then they promptly abandoned it in favor of exploring one another in bed. It’s been almost eight months since they stumbled into this strange relationship, three days following Frank’s fight with Russo on the carousel. During that time they had spent most of their time together, usually with him spending the night, her coming home to him, happier than she could ever remember being.

She’s blissfully happy, laying in bed today, before she gets a phone call from a terrified intern, informing her they had scheduled her an interview with a prominent Senator (who was under fire for a sex scandal) and they had forgot to tell her.

“Can you— _believe_ —the gall—of these interns?” She says in frustration. Karen’s furious, running around the room snatching up clothes and throwing an outfit together as quickly as possible as Frank lays in the bed, watching her. He’s naked under the sheet, hair curling against his scalp, arm bracing his head. “This is the _biggest_ scandal, and I’ve been working this story, and since Ellison’s out with the flu he’s left the place to these idiots. _What_ are they thinking?”

She’s not really expecting an answer and he doesn’t give her one, sated and relaxed. He’s not going to bother telling her to calm down—her righteous fury about this particular politician has been building for weeks now, and this is icing on the cake. She’s finally got the opportunity to actually cover the scandal and it’s slipping through her fingers with each minute.

She passes by and Frank grabs her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist gently. “Take a breath,” he reminds her. It would do her no good to go into the interview this angry, and they both know it.

She does, in through the nose and out through the mouth. After a couple breaths she opens her eyes and grins at him, replacing anger with excitement. “I’m ready.”

“He’s not gonna know what hit him,” he tells her confidently, tilting his head up.

She leans down and kisses him deep, then pulls away and runs a hand through his hair. “I wish I could stay, though.”

“Time for that later. Go get him.”

She smiles widely. “Love you.”

His eyes soften. He pulls her down for another heated kiss, then pinches her butt and grins ruefully. “Love you gangsta. Go on.”

She’s gone with another flash of a smile, a laugh, and a call of _order some italian for dinner!_ He rolls his eyes and starts making a list for the grocery store, instead.

No way they’re having fake Italian in this home. Because home is exactly what this is, messy sheets and calm reassurances and dinner plans. And he’s more than a little okay with being home, as long as it’s with Karen.


	7. Vestigial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen finds the Punisher's vest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one requested it, just slammed it out in twenty minutes at work. Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: an anon pointed out to me that reusing kevlar vests is probably not a good idea, so edited for accuracy

Karen wants to do it. She lays in bed and stares at her bedroom closet, knowing it’s strange to want it. The urge to go in there, dig through everything and pull it out is overwhelming. 

She lays there for another couple of minutes trying to convince herself not to, but the curiosity is too strong. 

She crawls out of bed and sits on the floor in front of the closet, pawing through her pile of shoes until she hits the box underneath. She yanks it out and stares at it, then glances over her shoulder. Frank stepped out twenty minutes ago to grab Chinese food, and he should be back soon. 

_This is a bad idea. It’s just going to upset you,_ she thinks, but her hands are pulling off the lid before she can stop herself. 

Inside is a handgun, a couple boxes of ammo, a scope, and underneath everything else: a bullet proof vest. Karen pulls it out slowly, rests it on her knees and stares down at it. A small part of her feels sick looking at it—although this one is new, _just in case,_ he’d told her, the idea that he’s gone through so many makes her stomach churn. She flips it over and stares down at the haphazardly painted on skull, shivers making their way down her arms.

It’s stupid to pull this out and stare at it, but she has and it feels like she’s holding a small piece of Frank, albeit a violent part. She runs her fingers gently over the front; this one is smooth, and clean, but she can’t help but picture it riddled with bullet holes like so many have before it. Each one makes her sick; a reminder of how close and how many times he’d come to death.

The vest is heavy in her hands, and much too big for her, but a thought comes over her that she can’t shake. She glances at the door and stands, stepping in front of her floor length mirror. She slips the vest over her pajama shorts and tshirt, and feels it sit heavy on her shoulders. The weight is reassuring, and even if it’s a little big on her, it still hugs her loosely. She imagines herself as Frank, climbing fire escapes, slinking through the night, taking criminals out one by one. She runs her fingers over the rough material and stares at herself in the mirror, her frame tiny in comparison. It’s stark black against her pale skin, and the image gives her a feeling she’s not sure how to identify. 

There’s clasps on the side and she tightens them absently, turns to examine it at a different angle. If she’s being honest with herself, the vest gives her a sense of security, a sense of power. It could just be the paint, but somehow she thinks it’s more than that. She wonders if this is how Frank feels wearing it, although it’s been sitting in her closet for months and months. 

She’s startled out of her thoughts when she catches Frank’s reflection in the mirror, leaning on the doorframe. He’s watching her with an expression torn between grim and amused, arms crossed over his chest. 

They stare at each other in the mirror in silence, and then he pushes off the door and comes towards her. Karen watches him, butterflies in her stomach; watches as he steps up behind her, settles his hands on her hips. His palms are hot against her skin, and he leans down to kiss her neck with a hum. “What’re you doin’?”

“Just curious. Wanted to get into your head.” She bends her neck to grant him more access, feels his hands pull at the clasps. The vest loosens and he slips his fingers under, rough against the soft skin of her stomach. 

“You’re always in my head,” he tells her, watching her in the mirror. 

Karen smiles, feeling his hands grasp at the vest. He pulls it off carefully, tossing it back towards the closet. His hands find her again, lips on her jaw. His voice is shattered glass. “...but I don’t like that on you.” 

She turns to look at him, drapes her arms over his shoulders. “It’s a part of you,” she murmurs, “and a part of us.” 

He frowns, deep v between his brows. The expression on his face is perturbed. “Not anymore.” 

She tilts her head up, humming. It’s true—he hasn’t put that vest on in the better part of a year. It’s been quiet and safe, and happy. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Forgive me?” 

The smile returns, eyes heating up and raking across her face. “Nothing to forgive,” he says, with a voice like gravel. Karen feels shivers erupt over her body, feels the electricity between them as he leans down to kiss her. She steps forward and pushes him back until he falls against the bed, yanking her down on top of him.

The vest lays face down on the floor, and is forgotten for the rest of the night.


	8. Puzzle Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from anon: (from what Jon said about Kastle) "Frank sees that as a weakness. But the heart is a tricky thing. When your heart's affected, your heart's affected." Please serve some extra juicy fluff if you could. I just think you're a genius writer and I admire you so much!

In the end, they come together like two pieces of a puzzle. They fall into a natural rhythm; Frank stays at her place most nights, and she texts him random thoughts while she’s at work, and in the spaces in between they explore one another with tentative, slow, burning touches.

“Why did this take us so long?” Karen murmurs one night, laying on her stomach next to him. Frank has his head propped up on one hand, the other tracing light patterns over her back.

Frank hums, lost in thought. “Well…,” he says quietly into the silence. The city is asleep around them, and even the traffic outside of her window is quieter than usual. It’s as if the world is making up for all of the blood and pain it put them through to finally get to this place, by giving them some peace. “…it was…hard.”

She knows that he’s been talking in his group with Curtis by the habitual way his eyes flick back and forth, like he’s talking to an invisible crowd. He hesitates, fingers stilling on her back. “When I lost Maria…and the kids…” he says quietly, “…I thought that I would rather die than—than put myself through that shit again, you know?”

Karen rests her head on her arms, watching him quietly. His fingers resume, tracing over the bumps in her spine. “I just—at first I just wanted to keep you safe. You helped me remember them. You _believed_ me. And y’know Curtis, he…he told me _the heart’s fickle_ and all that other sappy bullshit.” Frank laughs quietly, massaging the base of her neck. “At first I just blew him off, thought I owed you, but…”

“ _When the heart’s affected, it’s affected_ ,” Karen smiles, enjoying the rough pads of his fingers on her neck. “I read that once. On a card or something.”

Frank leans down to kiss her shoulder, chuckling low. “That’s one way to put it.”

“What’s another way?” She asks, shivering as he kisses his way down her back.

“Hm…” He braces himself above her, caging her with his elbows. She glances back over her shoulder, giving him a coy smile as he straddles her waist. “With a massage,” he says slowly, and drags his hands over her skin with teasing pressure. “Or a kiss….” his lips touch her shoulder. “Or…” He reaches down, flicks his fingers over her panties as she lets out a small hiss, bucking up against him.

“ _Frank_ ,” she sighs, breath stuttering as his fingers slip under her underwear.

He smirks, flips her over and crawls down her body. She arches up as his tongue traces a line down her folds, lets out a whimper as his fingers join. It’s not long before she’s crying out, hands pulling at his hair desperately.

“Or that,” he tells her smugly as she looks at him, dazed.

She laughs breathlessly, pulling him up to her. “I love you,” she whispers into his mouth, her own taste on his tongue.

Frank grins against her, then pulls back to stare down at her. “I love you,” he tells her, all traces of uncertainty gone. “Whatever the fuck is in those Hallmark shows you watch, or those cards…all that.”

She laughs, loud and bright, and snuggles up next to his chest. “You big sap,” she says fondly.

Frank smiles, pulling her to him. “Only for you, sweetheart.”


	9. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank and Karen take the Lieberman children trick-or-treating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon requested prompt 58. “OH MY GOD YOUR EYES!!!”

Karen loves watching the Lieberman children with Frank. More specifically, she loves watching _Frank_ watch the Lieberman children–the easy way he interacts with them, his crinkled eyes when he laughs, the way his shoulders roll into an easy slump whenever they’re around. 

So when Halloween comes around and David asks if they’ll take the kids trick-or-treating so he and Sarah can have a date night, of course they agree. They let the couple spend their anniversary together and bring the kids to Karen’s place to put on their costumes. Zach, much to Frank’s chagrin, dons a red, horned suit and jumps around the apartment calling himself _the new devil of hell’s kitchen!!_ while Leo decides to be Jane Goodall, excitedly spewing random facts about the gorilla expert. Karen is helping her temporarily spray her hair into a light gray when Zach comes bouncing into the bathroom. 

“Look, Ms. Page, I’m the devil!! I’m gonna kick the bad guys’ butts!!” he declares, hands on his hips. The suit is a pale comparison to Matt’s, and seeing it made her a little sore at first, but he’s so happy it’s hard not to be excited for him.

She hears Frank sigh from the other room, and laughs. “Oh yeah? You know the devil of hell’s kitchen is blind, right?”

Zach seems to consider this, then nods seriously. “I know. That makes him even cooler.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Watch this.”

He disappears into the other room and lets out a yell, then giggles. There’s a rustling and Karen peeks out the door to see Frank fake-punching the boy, fists up. Zach relents, backing away with mad laughter. “Pete!! You’re supposed to let me beat you! I’m blind _and_ awesome!”

She covers her mouth, watches as Frank’s lip twitch into an ironic smile. “Sorry, sorry. Let’s try this again, yeah?” He looks away, then looks back and feigns surprise. “Oh my god your eyes!” he gasps, then holds his arms up as if to protect from Zach’s blows. 

It’s the most endearing thing she’s ever seen. 

She steps back into the bathroom and puts the finishing touches on Leo’s hair, then hands the girl her stuffed gorilla prop. “Very astute,” she says approvingly, and the girls grins happily. 

“Thanks Ms. Page!” she says excitedly, going to show her brother. Karen can hear her start to explain her costume when Frank appears in the bathroom doorway. He gives her an easy smile. 

“You’re covered in hair paint,” he says, nodding at her silver fingers. 

Karen grins and steps closer, hands behind her back. she tilts up her chin suggestively. “Sorry.”

His gaze heats up and he ducks his head. “Not gonna stop me,” he murmurs, sliding an arms around and kissing her soundly. 

“Ewwwww!” Zach groans from the hallway. “Stop kissing, you’re just like my parents!!”

Karen giggles and pulls away, then laughs harder at the silver paint on Frank’s cheeks. “Sorry, Zach. Where’s you coat?”

“The devil doesn’t need a coat!” he exclaims, running into the living room. Karen rolls her eyes and gives Frank a warm look. 

“You think the two of us can handle them both?” she asks, smiling. 

Frank chuckles. There’s a look in his eyes that kicks her heart into overdrive. “As long as it’s the two of us, we can handle anythin’.”

And he’s right. Corrupt government officials, betrayals, criminals gangs, or even two excited kids on a sugar high–they can handle it. 

Together.


	10. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by anon: 28 "Stand behind me."

"Stand behind me.” Karen’s voice is strong, and sure. She meets Frank’s eyes and he nods, tiptoeing around to stand behind her. It’s chilly today, but she’s sweating from exertion. She swipes her arm across her forehead and waits. 

Frank stands close enough behind her that she can feel the heat of him, and after a moment’s pause, his arm comes around her front. He positions himself so that she’s pressed against his chest, her hands wrapped around his arm. His voice is low in her ear. 

“Remember what I showed you,” he says quietly. “Use your body against me.”

She nods, takes a deep breath, and adjusts her grip. At his go she reels her leg up and drives her heel into his foot, then twists at his grunt and yanks his hand back hard enough that he grimaces, falling to a knee. 

“Good,” he breathes, standing slowly as she frees him. 

When she had suggested that Frank show her how to defend herself, she wasn’t expecting to love it. She wasn’t expecting the thrill she got from being able to bring a man Frank’s size to his knees, even if he was going easy on her. Frank’s looking at her now, rubbing his wrist and smiling. His eyes are gleaming with a hint of pride, and he gestures her over. 

“That was good,” he tells her, “But what if I–”

His hand lashes out to grab the hair on top of her head. Karen’s eyes widen and she grabs his hand instinctively, then uses her other fist to drive it into his elbow. At the same time, she hooks her knee behind his leg and pulls. Frank goes down quick, grinning, and before she can blink he’s grabbed her ankle and tugged. Karen flails and falls backward, using her hands to cushion the fall, but then Frank pulls her by the ankle to him like she weighs absolutely nothing. He stares down at her, her head caged between his arms. 

“Fuck,” Karen groans, letting her head fall back. Her breath comes quick and she glares up at his smug expression. “ _That’s_ cheating.”

Frank hums, amused. “That’s life,” he tells her, barely winded. 

Karen huffs and sits up, a breath away, then gives him a coy smile. She leans forward and grabs him by the shirt, pressing her lips to his hungrily. His arm snakes around her waist and she feels him relax against her–until she uses all the strength she has to flip him onto his back and straddle him.

Frank grunts, then glares up at her, betrayed. “That’s cheating, ma’am,” he rumbles. 

She laughs, trailing her hands down his chest. She ducks to kiss him, taking her time, and when she pulls away the look in his eyes is heated. 

“No,” she says sweetly, “that’s life. Now–again. I want to get this right.”


	11. Designated Driver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon requested: 53. “I’m his/her best friend.”

“I’M HIS BEST FRIEND!!” 

Karen tries so hard not to laugh, she really does. She sits in the driver side of her car and watches a mildly drunk Frank half-carry, half-drag an _extremely_ drunk David Lieberman up to his front door. 

“Shut up, asshole,” Frank says, though he’s not being too quiet himself. 

David laughs out a cheer, then plants a kiss smack on Frank’s cheek. “You’re my–best friend friend, man. Like, we’re blood brothers. _Actual_ blood brothers.”

“Aw, come on,” Frank scoffs, but she can hear the amusement in his voice. “Knock that shit off, Lieberman.”

He knocks on the door and it opens to reveal Sarah, who rolls her eyes at the both of them. There’s a short conversation and then Frank is lumbering back to the car. Once inside he looks at her with an expression that’s a mixture of exasperation and embarrassment. She stares back at him, grinning. 

“I think I like being your DD,” she says casually. 

Frank huffs, then gives her a shy smile. “He’s wrong–you know that?”

Karen raises her brows. “Wrong about what?”

Frank looks away and clears his throat, but his intoxication makes the gesture more dramatic than he probably intends. He taps his fingers on his legs, then looks back at her seriously. “You’re my best friend,” he tells her simply, “not him.”

The statement makes her heart swell, and she can’t help but lean forward and kiss him. He returns the kiss eagerly, hand cupping her cheek, and when she pulls away he looks dazed. 

“You’re my best friend too,” she tells him, and it’s true. “Now let’s get you home so you can sleep that alcohol off.”

She turns the car on and Frank grumbles _‘m not even that drunk_ , but slips his hand into hers and hums along to the radio, and Karen drives them home, thinking that if she has to sacrifice a night as DD to see Frank like this, it’s well worth it.


	12. Rainstorm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sarma on tumlbr requested prompt: 23. “You have a picture of me? On your fridge?”

There are days in Hell’s Kitchen where the rain starts out of nowhere, drenching the city without preamble. It’s on one of these days that Frank and Karen are walking back to her apartment from a early evening dinner, where the rain begins and refuses to cease. They’re many blocks away from her apartment but only a few from Frank’s, and at his suggestion they dash that way. 

Karen loves the rain. She feels like it’s a natural cleanse, and it always brings out something younger in her, something less worried about the day to day and more worried about how many puddles she can splash through. It’s this Karen that takes Frank’s hand and pulls him along, knowing the general direction but more excited to just _run_. 

By the time they reach Frank’s apartment they’re soaked through. Karen pushes her hair out of her face and waits for Frank to unlock the door, shivering slightly from the chill in the hall. She’s never been in Frank’s apartment for long, since he prefers hers, and she’s curious to see how he lives. 

Once inside, Frank disappears to grab some towels and Karen wanders around the apartment, hugging herself. She peruses the bookshelf in the corner, noting the odd mixture of classics and modern fiction, as well as a few autobiographies. She looks around and notices that other than the bookshelf and furniture, the room is oddly bare. 

In the kitchen, there’s a couple dishes drying on the rack, and she notices a coffee maker in the corner. There’s some obscure brand of coffee next to the pot, and she rolls her eyes. _Coffee snob_ , she thinks, glancing back towards the bedroom. She turns and something on the fridge catches her eye. 

She’s just pulling it off the fridge when she hears Frank’s footsteps. “I grabbed you some clothes, if you wanted ‘em.”

She turn and holds the picture from the fridge up, raising a brow. “What’s this?”

He stops just short of the kitchen tile, glances between her face and the picture of herself, turns a little pink.

“...you went into my house,” he says lamely, as a deflection. 

Karen laughs, then looks back down. It’s a newspaper clipping of her from the trial--his trial--and in the picture she’s dressed to the nines. She’s walking down the courtroom steps, pushing her hair behind her ear, and Foggy is next to her. She remembers that day clearly, he had joked about her heels and how he wouldn’t be able to catch her if she fell. She smiles at the memory, at the easy smirk on her face in the picture, and looks back up at Frank. 

He hasn’t moved. He’s watching her a little nervously, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. 

“Why do you have this?” Karen asks curiously. She doesn’t mind, not really, but she’s seen no other pictures in his apartment so far, and the implication is making her shiver just as the cold had. 

Frank clears his throat, averts his eyes. He holds a towel and some clothes out. “I...I don’t know. I just...” He meets her eyes again, shrugs lamely. “It calms me. When--when I need it.”

Karen blinks, then looks back down at the photo. She turns and lovingly places it back under the magnet. When she takes the clothes from him, she leans up and presses her lips to his cheek, then pulls away to give him a soft smile. 

“You don’t need a picture, Frank,” she tells him quietly. She watches the way his eyes widen, then narrow on her. His hand is lifted in an aborted caress, and he lowers it quickly. “I’m right here.”

His gaze follows her to the bathroom, and Karen has never been more glad for a rainy day.


	13. Pressed Petals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: how about a drabble where frank surprises karen for her birthday?

It had been almost a year since Frank Castle had fought his best friend on the carousel. A year since he’d left the hospital officially renamed as Pete Castiglione. A year since he started trying to live his life, rather than just survive it.

It had been a tough year. Living each day as a war, getting his ass beat—that was easy. Rebuilding relationships, finding his place among society…well, that was another story. But he was trying. He went to group with Curtis and forced himself to speak. That was the hardest part, he thought sometimes. There weren’t many people in the world who’d been through as much bullshit as he had.

He had grown out his hair again, grown out the beard. He had a pretty infamous face, but he’d found that most people, in their every day lives, don’t look at faces searching for a fugitive. He was smiled at by waitresses, made small talk with the coffee shop cashier. Most people had no idea who he really was. Every once in a while he’d see someone staring at him with a puzzled expression, like they were trying to place him, like they’d seen him before. He usually slipped away before they could figure it out.

Point is, he’s trying.

Which explains why he’s walking through Matt Murdock’s door, wrapped box under one arm. As soon as he walks in he’s pushing his way through a crowd of people to get to the living area where he finds even more people. And there, at the center of it all: Karen Page.

She’s currently shoulder-to-shoulder with Foggy Nelson, shot gunning a beer. There’s a circle of her friends and coworkers around her cheering her on, but the contest is more show than anything. They’re both laughing too hard to be drinking much of anything. Frank stops to watch, and can’t help but stare at the way her dress hugs her hips, the way her heels shape and contour her legs. He’s spent more than enough late nights helping Karen with her journalism to know she’s beautiful in sweats or a plastic bag, but she’s certainly done herself up for this party. He lets his eyes drift up and down her body for the briefest of moment before he feels someone walk up beside him.

“Red,” he greets casually, pretending he hadn’t been staring. Not like he would know anyways.

“Surprised to see you,” Matt greets cordially, “Glad you could make it.” He’s holding out a glass with two fingers of scotch. “You’re a scotch man, aren’t you Pete?”

Frank shoots him an exasperated look. “Yeah, thanks. And uh, thanks for the invite.” He takes the glass and his eyes find Karen again, who meets his gaze and breaks into a wide smile. She starts pushing his way towards them, waving off Foggy.

Matt _huh_ ’s softly under his breath, just enough for Frank to hear. He’s laughing at him. “She’s beautiful tonight, isn’t she? Lots of quick heartbeats.”

Frank is suddenly very aware of his own blood pounding in his ears. Matt slips away into the crowd just as Karen reaches him and throws her arms around his neck. She’s been drinking for a while; he can smell it on her, intermingled with her perfume. She half falls, half runs into his arms, forcing Frank to place one hand on the small of her back for balance.

She pulls back after a moment to beam up at him. Her cheeks are bright pink and her eyes are lit up with excitement. “You came!!” she says in lieu of a greeting, then zones in on the box under his opposite arm. “ _And_ you brought me a gift?”

“No, this is for the other birthday party I’m goin’ to tonight.” He flashes her smile and holds the box out to her. “Just uh, open it later, yeah?”

“Thanks, Frank—oh, I mean, Pete.” She giggles, leaning up to press a lingering kiss to his cheek, soft lips brushing against the stubble there. He’s very suddenly reminded of the last time they were this close, all those months ago in the elevator. Nothing had happened since then, except perhaps stolen glances and the occasional instance of her falling asleep on his shoulder in the middle of a movie. He’s never sure how ready he is, with her. Some days he thinks they could take on the world and other days he just wants to run away—for her sake. He clears his throat and looks over her head.

“Quite a party,” he remarks.

“Yeah, definitely more people than I expected. But hey, the more the—“

“ _KAREN_!!” Foggy yells from across the room, turning numerous heads. “You two get over here, we need two more players for flip cup!! Let’s go!!”

Karen sighs, but it’s accompanied by a fond smile and a wave. She looks at Frank and gives him a devious look. “Have you ever played? No? Well you’re going to learn—I need a partner.”

 

\--

 

Turns out, Frank’s terrible at flip cup. This drives Karen and Foggy into absolute hysterics, but by the end of the night he doesn’t get any better. He’s a trained sniper, arguably the best around, and yet the premise of flip cup evades him. Go figure.

Karen’s still snorting about it as they pile her birthday presents into his car. He gives her a dirty look without menace, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“I was just lettin’ you win since it was your birthday,” he tries as they drive off, but she scoffs at him good-humoredly.

“And what about _before_ I kicked you off my team? Huh?”

“Ah, nothin’ gets past you, Page.”

Karen put a hand on his arm, beaming at him. “I’m just messing around. I can’t believe you actually played, to be honest.”

Frank glances down at her hand, and then turns back to the road, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He tries to ignore the heat spreading through his sleeve, and definitely doesn’t ask himself why she hasn’t moved her hand yet. Not that he’s complaining. “Well, like Curtis says, try somethin’ new every day.”

“And today you triiiied…..sucking at drinking games?” She huffs a laugh at his scoff, and then moves her hand to the radio. They spend the rest of the drive listening to pop hits, with her occasionally singing along under her breath.

At her apartment, he parks the car and helps carry the gifts upstairs. It doesn’t escape him that she’s got his cradled in her arms, and that she occasionally fiddles with the edge of the wrapping paper as they climb the stairs. Inside, she kicks off her heels with a groan that sends shivers down his spine. She places the gifts on the coffee table and looks at him. “You sticking around?”

Frank shifts from one foot to the other, “For a bit.”

She nods and disappears into the bathroom to change while he sets about making a pot of coffee. There were many nights where he would stop by to help her with a story and they’d end up drinking coffee through morning, so he’s no stranger to her kitchen. He sits on the couch just as she comes out of the bathroom, wearing flannel pajamas and tying her hair into a thick braid. She smiles at him and sits down, instantly grabbing his gift.

“So, can I open this now?”

Frank looks around the room, pretending he’s not nervous. Pretending like this couldn’t go one of two ways. “Sure, if y’want,” he says, trying to be casual and failing miserably.

Karen hears something in his voice that gives her pause. She looks at him, head tilted, until he gestures for her to get on with it. He gets up as she starts to unwrap it, pouring two cups of fresh coffee for them. The box in her hands isn’t labeled, and she looks at him in confusion, and then pulls off the lid.

Frank sets the coffee down next to her, losing all pretense of casualty. He begins to tap his finger, watching as she pulls something book shaped from the box.

“You can’t kill that one,” he says quickly, but his joke doesn’t quite meet his eyes. She looks at him in surprise, wordless. In her hands is the gold-rimmed picture frame he’d found in a little shop near his place. Right in the middle he had dried and pressed a single white rose, suspended between the glass panes. The nervousness is all over his expression, and his shoulders are tense. She turns back to the frame, brushing her fingers lightly over the pane.

“Frank,” she breathes, “This is--…wow. This is gorgeous."

He takes a long drink of his coffee, staring into the cup determinedly. He’s fine, he’s not nervous. It’s just a birthday gift. Nothing to freak out about—just something sentimental between friends. “’m glad ya like it,” he mumbles.

Frank knows that it’s a little ridiculous. They’ve been playing this dance for a year now. Some days he thinks he can handle it, and then he scares himself away, telling himself he doesn’t deserve someone like her. But god, he wants her. From the moment he met her, there was something about Karen Page that woke up all of his senses. He can’t force himself to stay away.

She makes him feel things that he never thought he’d feel again. Not after Maria. Not after the shit he’s been through.

“Frank,” Karen says softly, and those blue eyes are staring right into him, “what does this mean?”

“It’s just a--…” Frank looks away, rubbing his neck. She doesn’t deserve that, doesn’t deserve the aloof lie he was about to speak into existence. “It’s whatever you want it to be,” he tells her honestly.

She stares at him, brow furrowed. She’s got her bottom lip between her teeth, and his eyes flicker down to watch. Every part of him is screaming to lean forward. Karen licks her lips, noticing him watching her. “Are you sure?” she asks, touching his shoulder gently.

“No.” He lets out a laugh, hangs his head slightly. “…but yeah. Yeah, I am.”

When he glances back up her smile lights him up from the inside out. She scoots closer and throws her arms around him, one hand still grasping the frame. “Thank you,” she whispers into the crook of his shoulder. “This is…super romantic. And sweet. And…” She trails off, pulls back slightly and presses her lips to his without another word.

Frank cradles her head in his hands, kisses her back with everything he has. He thinks of every day that he was so lonely it felt like a hole was ripping straight through him. He thinks of how the day he met her she was something different, someone who put herself in danger to help him. How she’s been a constant in his life, and how she’s special, so goddamn special, and he’s been an idiot to wait this long.

He feels her hand push on his chest and they draw away, breathing hard. She grins at him and holds the frame up. “I’m going to hang this in the bedroom,” she says casually. “Maybe you should come and help me decide…where. Maybe…above the bed?”

Frank smirks and grasps her free hand, tugging her up. “It’d be my pleasure, ma’am.”

\--

They hang the frame the next morning--or, at least, they start to. 

Karen sits on the bed, with a shirtless Frank holding it up against different places on the wall. It's late morning, and she's sprawled out, sated and lazy, as she directs him. This goes on for several minutes, and it's not until the second time in the same place he realizes she's messing with him. He turns and rolls his eyes, but her laughter pulls a grin out of him and he crawls onto the bed, tugging her beneath him and kissing the exposed plane of her chest. She giggles and pushes at him lightly. "Come on, I really want to hang it, please!"

"Shoulda thought of that before messin' around, now I got other plans," he says wickedly, kissing his way down her navel. 

"O-kayyy," she sighs as his lips dip lower, kissing her hipbone. "Tomorrow, for sure."

"Mhm," he acknowledges, feeling her fingers thread through his hair. "Sure."

Her birthday gift sits to the side, shining in the morning light as Frank explores the map of her skin for the second time, and Karen thinks _best birthday gift ever_ before she thinks absolutely nothing at all. 


	14. Missing Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompted: 9. “Why didn’t you call me?” and 38. “I guess I just wanted to know if you missed me.”

Karen shows up at Frank’s door at half past eleven, drunk and smiling. He opens the door and stares at her, brow furrowed. “Karen?”   
  
She’s wearing a long coat, despite the warm weather. Frank steps away to let her inside, and she stalks past, trailing her fingers over his chest teasingly. “Hi Frank,” she purrs, the smell of whiskey on her breath.   
  
He chuckles, closing the door and crossing his arms. “Wasn’t I supposed to pick you up from Josie’s? Why didn’t you call me?”   
  
Karen huffs, turning to face him, and gives him a wide smirk. Her hands fall to the belt tied around her waist and she slowly undoes the knot, letting the coat fall open to reveal—  
  
“Oh.” Frank’s mouth dries at the sight of Karen Page, naked but a coat and some intricate looking lingerie, standing in his living room. “Wha-“  
  
“I guess,” Karen hums, stepping closer and pulling his hands her her hips, “I just wanted to know if you missed me, is all.”   
  
They’ve been sleeping together for months now, but there’s almost nothing in the world that takes his breath away like Karen’s soft, pale skin under his tanned hands. Frank lets his eyes rove over her body, feels the space around their heads charge with electricity. He tugs her hips towards him and ducks his head to kiss her shoulder, the coat falling to their feet with a whisper of air.   
  
They’ve both been busy the last week or so, from her big story she’s been working for Ellison, to Frank’s work in construction. They haven’t had much time to be together and sometimes he’s still surprised by how much he does miss her, even after only a couple of days apart. He doesn’t always say it, doesn’t have to—she knows. Karen makes a happy noise, a sigh bordering on a moan, carding her fingers through his hair as he falls to his knees, pressing a kiss to her stomach.   
  
“Is that a yes?” She breathes, smiling down at him.   
  
Frank’s hands trace the lace of her lingerie, the straps that circle her hips, to the garters, around her thighs and back up to cup her ass with a wicked grin. “Yes,” he murmurs, as she tugs at his shirt. “Yes I did.”


	15. Caught in the Middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompted: 27. “Just breathe, okay? Just breathe.” and 64. “I was trying to protect you.”

Getting caught in the middle of two vigilantes that are actively trying to kill each other is not a good feeling, Karen decides. She’s standing on the roof of her apartment building, at one in the morning, in her work clothes. It’s raining a little, and thundering a lot, so she’d like this to be over as soon as humanly possible, thank you. 

  
Although at this point she’s not sure she can use the term human for the two men on either side of her. Not in this state. Matt—or The Devil, she should call him with that damn suit on—is on her left, blood dribbling down his lip, gasping for air. Frank is standing on her right, gun lowered for her benefit but face still twisted into an angry scowl.   
  
Karen has had quite enough. She throws her hands out and glares back and forth. “Listen to me, you two,” she says over the roar of thunder above their heads, “you need to knock this shit off! I’m getting tired of it.”   
  
Matt splutters gracelessly. “Karen,” he pleads, “I was just trying to protect you. I know you think he’s a good person but—“  
  
“Oh, shut the hell up, Red. She don’t need your fuckin’ protection,” Frank drawls, shouldering his gun in annoyance. Karen suspects he would never actually shoot Matt, at least not in front of her, so Karen focuses on Matt’s words and stalks over to him, heels splashing in the growing puddles under her feet.   
  
“You listen to me, Matt Murdock,” she scowls, half a foot away and  _furious_ , “you have no right— _no right_ —to come back into my life and play knight in shining armor. You hear me? And just so you know—Frank treats me with respect. And he doesn’t lie to me, which is more than I can say for you.”   
  
Matt’s mouth opens and closes, opens and snaps shut again. He tilts his head and seems to listen for something, then takes a step back, shocked. “You love him,” he says dumbly.   
  
Karen straightens her spine, feels the flush spread across her face. Frank is silent behind her. “That’s none of your business.”   
  
“But it’s true.” Matt laughs but there’s an edge to it, like he’s laughing at some big, cosmic joke. “Wow, Karen.”   
  
Karen has never wanted to hit someone so hard in her life. She curls her fists and swallows hard. Her voice is deadly quiet when she speaks again. “Get the  _fuck_ out of here, Matt.”    
  
Matt looks in her direction for a moment that builds and builds until she thinks she’ll launch at him, and then she blinks and he’s gone, down some fire escape or flying through the air or however the hell he gets around in that stupid ridiculous outfit of his. Karen stands there with the rain pouring down on her head, lightning cracking in the distance, Frank silent behind her, and feels her emotions break like a damn. She sinks down and buries her face in her hands and cries and cries until she feels a tentative hand on her shoulder, and then one of her wrist, and then Frank has gathered her into his arms.   
  
“Just breathe, okay?” He murmurs into her hair, “Just breathe.”   
  
It’s hard and it takes too long but eventually Karen is able to take a deep breath in, and she pulls away and looks away in shame. “I didn’t want you to know,” she says quietly. “I can’t take it back, but I just—…”  
  
Frank grabs her hand and tilts her chin up, staring into her eyes. His gaze is a mixture of tenderness and wariness. “Karen,” he rumbles, just as the sky above them does, “I don’t know what the hell’s going to happen from here. But you’re freezin’, and you need to get inside. Come on.”   
  
He pulls her up and guides her towards the door leading downstairs, and he hasn’t promised anything to her, but his hand holding hers tightly feels something like a promise, at least.   
  
So maybe it’ll be okay.


	16. Pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @tuntematonkorppi on tumblr requested 76. “I need you to pretend we’re dating.” (PS go follow them asap)

Karen Page’s office at the Bulletin is a living breathing disaster. The mess of it is almost anthropomorphic--every time Frank steps inside, he’s sure that a pile of papers or stack of sticky-notes is going to rear up and bite him. Today is no different. He’s sitting in one of the rigid chairs before her desk, balancing a cardboard coffee cup holder on his knee. He tilts his head to try and puzzle through the mess of papers on the wall behind her desk, waiting patiently. 

Karen walks into the door with a gust of air minutes later, apology already on her lips. Frank rises to greet her. “Fr--shit, Pete. I’m so sorry, I don’t think I can do lunch today. I got assigned this piece and I have an interview in two hours to prep for and--is that  _ coffee _ ?”

His lips twitch upwards and he holds one out, like a peace offering. “Yeah. Extra shot.”

“Ahh.” She pauses. “You must forgive me then?”

God, he’d forgive her for anything when she’s got those big eyes staring at him like that. Frank clears his throat and shoves his free hand in his pocket. “Sure. I was gonna cancel anyways.”

Her eyebrows shoot into her hairline. “Got a date?” she teases, taking a seat at her desk. 

Frank scoffs, watching her take a long pull from her coffee. “Nah. Curtis wants me to speak at group today. Couldn’t say no.”

She looks like she’s about to say something that borders between pleased and proud, but her eyes focus on the doorway behind him and widen almost comically. “Shit. Shit,” she mutters, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Quick--I need you to pretend we’re dating.”

Frank can’t help the dumbfounded expression that smooths across his face. “...what?”

Karen is already standing, yanking him around the desk by the sleeve. “The IT guy has been asking me out for months. Just--c’mon, stop looking at me like that. Just pretend we’re dating, please?” She glances over and then slaps a cringe-worthy fake smile on when a younger guy knocks on the doorframe. “Oh  _ hi _ , Milo.”

Frank has never heard her sound so insincere, and it takes a moment to recover. He looks the guy over critically--young kid, blonde hair, with those thick rimmed glasses that everyone in New York seems to wear these days. He looks like a strong gust of wind could send him flying. The kid-- _ Milo _ , Frank reminds himself--has his chest puffed out, haughty, but is sending the most love-struck look at Karen between glares at Frank and the coffees in their hands. 

_ Yeah, me too, kid, _ Frank thinks, and then looks away and slides an arm around Karen’s waist. He leans over and presses a kiss to her temple, and tells himself her sharp little inhale is out of surprise rather than something else. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says before Milo can respond. “I wish I didn’t have to cancel lunch. How ‘bout I make you dinner tonight instead?”

Karen’s eyes turn on him and for a moment, her fake smile falls away into something real. Something that makes his heart jump a little. He tightens his hand on her hip, raising his eyebrows, and she spurs into action. “Oh, um, yes. That’s--that’s perfect.”

He nods and takes a step away, feels the warmth of her leave immediately. The disappointed frown on her face matches the one on Milo’s perfectly, and Frank tells himself that really, he shouldn’t laugh, he’s got a part to play. He gives her a smile and then turns to pick up his bag from the chair. When he gets to the doorframe, he glances down at Milo and tilts his head. “Excuse me,” he rumbles. 

Milo moves immediately. Frank feels only a little bad at the crestfallen expression on his face. He turns and gives Karen a wink. “See you tonight.”

He doesn’t think Milo’s gonna be a problem anymore. 

 

\--

 

Three days later, Frank steps into Karen’s apartment and raises his brows at the sight before him. “Uhh, Karen?” he calls at the absolute tornado of papers on the floor. 

She lifts a hand from her prostrate position the couch. “Please tell me you have food,” she groans. 

“What, the jar of pickles and jug of mayonnaise in your fridge ain’t enough?” He snorts, walking over to peer down at her. She glares up at him, but without heat. “It’s on the way. Called it in half an hour ago.”

She sits up and sighs, pushing back her hair. “You’re a monster, you know that?”

He takes the seat next to her, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “What’d I do now?” he wonders, watching as she lifts her arms into the air to stretch. 

“Everyone at work is talking about my  _ broody scary boyfriend _ . I’ve had at least four people walk up to me and ask how we met. People I’ve never even spoken to, Frank.” She sounds a mixture of amused and exasperated. “I left at lunchtime to work from home, I couldn’t take it.”

Frank jiggles his foot, unable to help his laugh. “Tell ‘em to mind their own business.”

“You want me to tell a building of reports to mind their business? Have you lost it?” Her laughter abruptly cuts off when the buzzer rings. “That’s gotta be the food. I’ll get it."

Frank watches her go and decides it’s time for him to have a little fun. She  _ did _ ask, after all. And Frank’s really never been good at half-assing things. 

 

\--

 

**> >What have u done. **

Frank reads the text on his phone with a wide smile. He hunches over to type out a reply, biting back a laugh. 

_ >>Dunno what you mean _

**> >Dnt play coy w me Castle**

A picture flashes across his screen--a bouquet of the gaudiest looking roses he’s even seen, perched at the edge of her desk like she’s afraid they’ll contaminate everything else. There’s a huge pink ribbon wrapped around the heart shaped vase. He can just barely make out the words on the card, although he knows exactly what it says. 

_ >>”Hope you’re thinkin of me” _ he quotes to her. It’s better than he could have ever imagined. 

**> >Ull pay for this…**

Frank’s smirk widens. 

>> _ Oh, just wait.  _

 

\--

 

Over the next two weeks, Frank pulls out all the stops. 

He sends flowers so often, they take up every available surface in her office. He shows up with food every day and takes up her entire lunch hour. He brings in giant teddy bears and the most ridiculous Hallmark cards he can find. 

Each time he passes through the Bulletin, there are whispers. And maybe yeah, he’s drawing a little too much attention and maybe yeah, he could cool it with the pranks, but…

Well, it’s too much fun. And Karen doesn’t seem to mind too much. She eats the food and rolls her eyes; she snaps pictures of the stuffed animals doing odd things around her office and sends them to him. She makes a flower crown of roses and daisies and forces him to wear it every time he shows up. 

It’s fun, and more importantly, Milo hasn’t bothered her since they began “dating”. 

At the end of the two weeks, he gets busy. He gets a construction job and starts to work through the day. Her texts sometimes go unanswered when he leaves his phone on silent in his pocket. He can’t make their lunches and instead eats the sad-looking sandwich from his lunch pail, staring out over the city. And god, he misses her. 

He misses her up until he shows up at her door, a week later. When he steps inside, the lights are dimmed and there’s candles lit everywhere. He’s amused to see a pile of stuffed animals in the corner, and an array of take out food on the coffee table. Karen’s sitting on the couch waiting, and she stands when he enters. 

“What did I walk into, ma’am?” he asks, raising a brow. 

Karen smiles and walks over, and then the next thing he knows she’s got two hands fisted in his jacket and she’s kissing him. Frank makes a small, surprised noise, and rests his hands on her waist. When she pulls away, he can only describe her expression as wicked. 

“I forgot to pretend,” she breathes, and then pulls him back for more. 


	17. Cobra Pose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompted 82. "This is all your fault! I can't believe I listened to you!" and I can't take anything seriously so here we are lol

There aren’t many people who can say The Punisher has had a positive influence on their life. Unless, of course, your name is Karen Page. 

“This is all your fault,” Karen says, amazed. Her voice is muffled, head pointed at the floor. “I can’t believe I listened to you.”

Frank doesn’t raise his eyes. He lets out a slow breath, smirking. “It’s workin’, isn’t it?”

Karen huffs at his side, but it’s clearly entertained. They’ve spent enough time together for him to know that she’s teasing him, and he listens as she takes in a breath and shifts. “I still can’t believe you do yoga,” she mutters. “And I still can’t believe I’m letting you  _ teach _ me yoga. I  _ hate _ yoga.”

Frank turns his head and sweeps his gaze over her form. It’s early morning, and they’re side by side in her living room. The coffee table and couch have been shoved to the side, and the window is open, letting in a soft breeze. He watches as Karen arches backwards, pelvis to her mat.  When Karen had grumbled about aches and pains from bending over a laptop all day, the confession fell out of his mouth before he could stop it.  _ I could teach you some yoga poses for that, _ he’d said, and after her initial disbelief, she’d agreed. This is their third week of yoga together--and she’s slowly getting better, even if she complains the whole time.

He had learned yoga from Maria, who took classes several times a week during their marriage. When he would come home from deployment and complain about back aches or cramps, she would force him into yoga poses and--well, it stuck. (And, he remembers fondly, the little sparkle in her eye when she told him about her  _ improved flexibility _ never hurt to motivated him.) Sure, he got a lot of shit for it in the Marines, but eventually he was leading lessons on off days, and he does it to this day on his own.

And so here they are, side by side early Saturday morning, in the cobra pose. Frank sits up to watch Karen, hands on his thighs patiently. “Downward dog,” he says quietly, as a reminder. 

She shoots him an amused look but obeys, clamoring up rather gracelessly into position. Frank rests a hand on her spine, knocks her feet a little farther apart with the other, then nods. “How’s that pain, Page?” he asks casually. 

“It’s good,” she mutters, then turns her head to grin at him. “But you keep putting your hands on me like that and we may have to try a whole other kind of position.”

“Nice try,” he deadpans. She’s clearly trying to get out of yoga, and even though he’s tempted, this is good for her and he’s not letting her get out of it. “Sex as a weapon, Karen? I’m disappointed.”

Karen rolls her neck and sighs, deflating. 

“Worth a shot,” she mumbles. 


	18. Tickle Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by anon: 64. “Are you ticklish?” and 94. “I bet I can make you scream my name.”

**** Karen finds out by accident. She sits Frank down on the toilet seat in her bathroom and is patching up a cut under his arm when he flinches, but instead of a pained hiss, there’s a desperate, choking laugh. It's so quiet she wouldn't have heard it had she not been right next to him, bent over to examine the shallow wound. 

But she does. “What was that?”

Frank’s expression is smooth. “Nothin’.” 

Karen raises her brows, smirking. “Oh yeah? Because it sounded a little like a laugh.”

“Nope.” Frank stares forward, but flinches away when her fingers brushing his skin again. “ _ Karen _ ,” he says, a warning. 

He doesn’t scare her, never has, and in fact the deep growl he says in placement of her name only incentivizes her. “Are you ticklish?” She laughs, flexing her fingers threateningly. 

Frank is up in a flash, looking at her warily. “No.” He steps back, towards the living room and out of her reach. Karen stands and follows, grinning wickedly. Frank Castle the Marine--The Punisher--is  _ ticklish,  _ and she’s totally going to take advantage of that fact. Who wouldn’t?

“Come here, Frank,” she says sweetly, “let me finish patching you up.” 

“Nope, I got it. Thanks. But uh—no, fuck, Karen—“

There’s a shuffle and then they’re on opposite sides of the coffee table, staring one another down. Karen’s grin is infectious—he feels the corners of his mouth twitch upwards and he holds his hands up placatingly. “Hey,” he starts, but she only smirks wider and crouches slightly. 

“I bet I can make you scream my name, Castle,” she says, and then at his stunned look, she steps over the coffee table and tackles him onto the couch. She would feel bad for the hiss of pain from him if he wasn’t laughing as well, trying to fight her off as gently as possible as she attacks underneath his arms. “Come on, Frank, say it! Say my name!”

His eyes narrow and he grabs her arms, then flips her and straddles her hips. He pins both her wrists in his left hand and jabs at her side with his right, searching for her ticklish spot. Karen grins up at him, snorting. “I had a brother, Frank. You’ll never find my ticklish spo—ahh, oh stop stop!!”

“Never find it, huh?” He chuckles, then stops when she’s gasping for air. He’s still got her wrists in his hand, and they stare at each other from the small gap between them. Her chest rises and falls with her deep breaths, and her eyes are dark on his own. He knows he should stand, let her go, but now that they’re here, he can’t. The careful distance they’ve kept for the last few months has been snapped like a taut string. She flexes her hands and he lets go, pauses, runs his hand down her arm experimentally and lets it rest at her waist. He can’t look away, but neither can she. 

“You going to kiss me or what?” she finally murmurs, arching against him. Waiting.  

He tilts his head down, humming, nose skimming her cheek. “That what you want?” 

“I wouldn’t be asking otherwise,” she breathes. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirks, and then her laughter is cut off when he leans down and kisses her. Her mouth is soft and insistent against his own, and her nails scratch lightly at his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. Kissing her is like everything he’d imagined and more—every quick breath against his lips short-circuits his brain, every smooth inch of skin under his hand sending his body into a frenzy. 

And Frank decided she can tackle and tickle him all she wants, for the rest of his days, as long as it ends like this.


	19. Adoption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @tuntematonkorppi on tumblr: 95. “There’s no going back if we do this.”

Karen and Frank stand side by side, the pandemonium around them a little disorienting. The stare forward, the noise clamoring the longer they stand unmoving, and finally she turns to him seriously. She’s a little nervous, if she has to admit it, but the reassuring look in his eyes calms her.

“There’s no going back if we do this,” she says quietly, but they’re close enough that he can hear over the noise. “Are you sure?”

He smiles and takes her hand. “I’m sure. Are you? If this is too much—…”

She squeezes his hand quickly. “Not at all. But this—….this is going to change things.”

Frank turns forward and crouches down, hand outstretched. “We can handle it,” he tells her confidently, and then whistles, soft and low.

The dog in the corner stares at them warily, nostrils flaring curiously. He’s certainly not a puppy; his blue-grey fur is short, and there are several scars on his skin. He’s also got a piece of ear missing. Frank stares at him as Karen crouches beside him, smiling. “I love him,” she murmurs, “but he was in a dog-fighting ring. It might take him a while to warm up to us.”

Frank nods, hand still out stretched. “C’mere, Max. Come on, boy.”

Max’s tail begins to swing slowly, side to side. He cocks his head and lets out a quiet whine. Karen puts a hand on Frank’s shoulder for balance and leans forward. “Hi baby,” she coos, “look at how _handsome_ you are.”

“Thanks,” Frank chuckles, and she huffs.

“Frank,” she chastises, then creeps forward in front of him, hand outstretched. “Hi Max, hi boy…come here…I have a treat for you.”

Max perks at the word, sniffling excitedly. He stands and steps forwardr, tag wagging faster. Karen grins and watches him come closer, and when she holds out the treat he takes it gently and then chomps down happily. Karen reaches out cautiously and pets his head, and by the time he’s finished the treat he’s sniffing at her curiously. Karen laughs when he licks her cheek and turns to Frank, who for all intents and purposes is pouting.

“Oh stop,” she snickers, “he’ll warm up to you!”

Frank rolls his eyes. “We haven’t even left yet and he likes you more.”

“He’s a smart dog.”

Frank stands and nods, an amused expression crossing his features. “Good, if he likes you more then you get to take him out instead of me.”

“Oh, don’t you dare!”

Max yips in excitement at her tone, sending the rest of the kennel into a frenzy. Karen laughs and stands, petting him. “Alright Max, come on. Let’s take you home.” He lets her put the collar on, then waits patiently as she clips on the leash, and when she’s finished she turns to find Frank watching them with a soft smile.

She can’t help her own smile. “What?”

Frank takes her free hand and leans over to kiss her temple. “Nothin’, just happy to be doin’ this with you is all.”

“Me, too.” She looks down at Max, overcome with love at the idea of what’s to come. Early Saturday mornings in bed, taking Max for walks late at night, three of them cuddling on the couch for a movie. Her and her boys. The thought makes her beam.

“Let’s go home.”


	20. No Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @tuntematonkorppi on tumblr 69. “Why the hell are you bleeding?”

Frank walks into Karen Page’s apartment and hears the bathroom sink running, and soft cursing. He frowns and closes the door behind him. “Karen?”

“Yeah, come in Frank,” she calls, muffled, and then there’s another voice, amused but blunt.

“Keep your head up, Page, Jesus.”

Frank follows the sound of their voices and stands in the doorway of the bathroom, blinking at the scene before him. Karen is seated on the toilet, pinching her nose, head tilted back. There’s blood down her front. Jessica Jones is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, holding bloodied tissues and a flask. She flashes Frank a grim smile.

“Your girlfriend’s more fragile than she likes to let on.”

Frank huffs. He leans on the doorway and raises a brow. “Why the hell are you bleeding?” He directs at Karen, who is watching him from the corner of her eye.

She makes a small, annoyed sound. “Sparring upstairs. _Someone_ forgot to pull her punches.”

“If I didn’t pull my punch you’d be dead,” Jessica says bluntly. “It was just a little harder than I meant, that’s all. She’s fine, just a bloody nose.”

“You’re supposed to tilt your head forward and pinch. Not back.” Frank can’t help his amusement. As much as he hates seeing Karen in any kind of pain, she’s been talking about sparring with Jessica for weeks and he had advised repeatedly that it was a bad idea. (Not that he knows by experience--he’s smarter than that.) This is only fractionally better than he thought the outcome would be, and he’s not at all surprised she decided to do it when he wasn’t around.

Karen follows his directions, hanging her head with a gargled noise of annoyance. He slides his gaze over to Jessica and frowns, but she only gives him a flat look. “Hey, look, I told her it was a bad idea. Told her she’s better off with Trish.”

“She’s not very susceptible to good-intentioned advice.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Hey guys,” Karen says, side eyeing them from her bowed position, “Can you not talk about me like I’m not here?”

Frank throws up his hands, amused, and steps out to make a fresh pot of coffee. He’d come over originally to discuss one of her cases after coming across some intel on the streets. It could wait, though. After another fifteen minutes, both women stepped out of the bathroom. Karen’s face is cleaned and she’s wearing fresh clothes, and Jessica stuffs her flask back in her jacket. “Alright blondie, I’m out of here. Got to get some work done.”

Karen gives her a grateful smile. “Thanks for coming over. Even if you did almost knock out my teeth.”

Jessica barks out a laugh, gives in reluctantly to Karen’s hug, and then disappears out the door with a wave to Frank. He turns to Karen and pushes her mug across the counter. She sits and takes it gratefully, smiling at him.

“Hey,” she says softly in greeting, squeezing his fingers before he can pull away fully.

“Hey,” he returns, leaning on the counter to keep his hand in her grasp. He rubs a thumb over her knuckles absently. “How’d the sparring go otherwise?”

Karen shrugs and lifts her mug to her mouth with her free hand. “It was fine. A little frustrating, to be honest.” She hesitates. “I’m thinking of taking a boxing class.”

His brows lift in surprise. “Yeah? Y’know I could just teach ya.”

Karen’s flat stare is tinged with something like laughter and frustration all at once. “I would love that, but there’s no way I would learn anything unless you were wearing a trashbag.” There’s a beat of silence. “Actually, no, you could probably pull that off too.”

Karen’s gotten pretty liberal with her compliments since they began dating. He doesn’t think she does it on purpose, it’s just another way she thinks out loud--a soft _that shirt looks nice on you_ or _I love your beard like this, it’s very handsome_ when he least expects it. Frank’s never really thought of himself as attractive--his nose too crooked, ears too big--but Karen certainly does. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. “You got it bad, Page,” he teases to cover his own embarrassment.

Karen laughs, and the sound is sweet in his ears. She beams at him. “Sure do. You complaining?”

He lifts her hand to place a kiss across her fingers, smirking. “No, ma’am. But maybe don’t square up against Jessica Jones, human tank, next time, yeah?”

“No promises, Castle. No promises.”


	21. Die For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tunte prompted: 58. “I’d die for you. Of course, I’d haunt you in the afterlife but really, it’s the thought that counts.” and inspiration found me twice-- one of these follows the prompt exactly and the other is a little more serious. hope you enjoy both <3

> **option one**

Sometimes it makes her laugh, their relationship. An investigative journalist dating a vigilante, who has both shot at her and taken bullets for her. They lay in bed and her gaze falls on his skin, puckered with bullet holes and uneven with scars. He sleeps easier now, with her at his side, and she’s not afraid to admit she does too.

On the nights that he’s out, the Punisher wreaking havoc on the seedy underbelly of Hell’s Kitchen, she lays awake and holds her breath.

He’ll return to her before dawn, with the eyes of the Punisher but the softness of Frank, and she’ll guide him into the shower and then into bed with gentle touches and soft words. A reminder that he is more than the blood on his hands, or the gunpowder etched into his skin. He holds her and breathes into the soft smells of her shampoo, anchoring himself to her, to this reality. The morning light streams in and she texts Ellison that she’s working from home, but really she’s got him cradled in her arms, his ear pressed against her chest, her fingers brushing through his hair soothingly.

She doesn’t ask what he does, and he doesn’t tell her. They lay in the quiet and whisper conversation between sleep. In one of these moments, when she thinks he is asleep, she rubs a hand down the knocks in his spine and breathes out “I’d die for you” into the quiet.

He shifts under her hands, tilts his head to look up at her with broken eyes. “Don’t say that,” he says softly, misery bleeding into his voice. She looks down in surprise, brushing back his hair.

“It’s true,” she says after a moment, and it is. He’s never expressed anything like that to her—doesn’t have to. He’s proved it again and again. He’s given up his safety and anonymity for her, has taken bullets for her.

She would give anything, including her life, to see him safe and happy. She tells him as much, and he shakes his head and frowns. “You don’t get it,” he sighs. “Karen…I can’t lose you. If I did, I…”

“I know,” she murmurs. “Me too.”

> **option two**

It’s a warm June day when Karen realizes she’s in love with Frank Castle. They’re sitting on the fire escape to her building and she’s in her bikini and shorts, letting the heat of the sun radiate down onto her. It’s early enough in the season that she’s still grateful for the stifling heat. Frank is beside her, half-in half-out of the window, leg brushing hers. He’s in khakis and a tank top, and Karen’s glad for her sunglasses as she lets her gaze peruse the bulging expanse of his arms.

He really is incredible, determination and personality aside. He’s got a particular look on his face, like he knows she’s watching him, and his eyes haven’t moved from the same page in several minutes. She taps her foot and drags her gaze over his face, smiling slightly. God, she loves him. Loves his crooked nose, the buzzed hair at the base of his neck and the curls on top, loves the rueful grin creeping over his lips, loves his tenacity and voice and his familiarity. She decides to tell him, and leans forward to pluck the book from his hands.

“I love you,” she says, strong and sure, when he looks at her questioningly.

He looks at her for a moment, surprise etched into his brow, before it smooths and he reaches out to grasp her knee. They’ve never said it before, and she doesn’t need him to reciprocate, doesn’t want it if he’s not ready, but he climbs out of the window to sit by her and his words are sure when he speaks. “I love you, too,” he says in a voice that makes her chest swell. He kisses her temple.

She smiles, seized with a crazy impulse to tell him everything she’s ever thought, sitting in these quiet moments with him.  “I’d die for you.” She pauses at his bewildered, pained look. “Of course, I’d haunt you in the afterlife but really, it’s the thought that counts.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he says, voice rough with emotion, staring at her. “Ever.”

She shrugs, looking out over the fire escape railing. “I’m sorry. It’s true, though.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and when she turns to look at him again his eyes are soft and he leans in to kiss her tenderly. “Me, too,” he says on a whisper, resting his forehead on hers. It’s too hot for it, and she feels a drop of his sweat on her temple, but she refuses to pull away. The moment feels too big, too large, and she doesn’t want it to slip away.

It does, slowly, ebbing away when he sits back against the railing. His eyes travel over her exposed collarbone, the soft flesh of her thigh, and she feels heat build in an entirely different part of her body. “Frank.”

His eyes shoot up to hers and he grins, caught. “Ma’am,” he responds, fingers teasing up her thigh.

“You going to keep looking at me like that, or do something about it?”

“Oh, I’m gonna do something about it, alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi at tumblr! i love prompts <3 @onebatch2batch


	22. Friends First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by both @tuntematonkorppi and @marinefrank at tumblr (go follow both asap) --> 87\. “You were never just my friend.”

The first time Frank stays the night on her couch, Karen falls asleep faster than she has in a long time, and wakes up in the middle of the night, confused and thirsty. The room is hot and she’s got too many clothes on so she kicks off her pants and stands to get a glass of water in her t-shirt and bare feet.

She’s filling up the glass when she hears a soft rustle behind her, and the previous evening comes rushing back. She and Frank, having dinner at her kitchen island. Sharing a bottle and a half of wine—that explains why she’s so thirsty, she supposes. Her offer for him to crash on her couch, the hesitant nod he gave her in admission. She shuts off the sink quickly and hears him call her name, sleep heavy in his throat. “Kar’n?”

“Sorry,” she whispers, hiding her lower half behind the kitchen island, hoping he hadn’t seen. She knows it’s silly to be ashamed, but her cheeks are flushing with heat and she’s very, very conscious of her near nakedness. “Go back to sleep.”

She sees his form, outlined in moonlight, prop up to look over at her. “Everythin’ okay?” He rumbles, voice husky with exhaustion.

If she thought she was hot before, his voice sets her aflame. She swallows the lump in her throat and nods. “Yeah, yep. I’m fine.” Frank, bless his inability to overlook the tremor in her voice, stands and comes towards her. He stops in the doorway and reaches out for the light. “No, don’t!”

He stops. His hand falls to his side. “What’s going on?” He asks, voice wary and uncertain.

“I’m, uh…not wearing pants.”

The silence is deafening. Then, the ridiculous of the situation overwhelms her and she giggles, then laughs a full bodied laugh, leaning on the counter. She can practically feel the humor radiating off of him as she tries to speak. “I just— I forgot you were here— I’m so embarrassed…”

Frank’s low laugh is warm. “Sorry.” He turns and places a hand over his eyes, waiting. “No peekin’, cross my heart.”

Karen’s laugh trails off and she hesitates, then sets down her water and walks around the island, watching the hard line of his shoulders come closer. She walks around to his front and looks at him, following the dips and shadows of the moonlight on his face. His fingers are clasped tightly over his eyes, and he gets quieter and quieter as she comes nearer. For a moment she considers stepping away and going back to her room before she can do something foolish. Then she decides she’s waited long enough.

Karen reaches up and brushes her fingers over his, pulling his hand away. She smiles at the rigidity of his frame, the nervousness of his frown. She should be nervous, too, but she’s not, and she huffs a soft laugh when she sees his eyes are still closed. “Frank,” she says quietly, amused.

“I said no peekin’,” he tells her, but his voice is different—raspy and deep, reverberating through her chest. Then tension between them is palpable.

“What if I want you to?” She asks quietly, almost vibrating with nervousness. It’s been two months since they shared that quiet moment in the hotel elevator, and each day brings more held glances, more casual touches, more heat between them. She wakes up frequently with phantom kisses pressed to her skin, the lingering fragments of dreams she doesn’t dare to think about during the day. She sits with him on park benches, and across from him in diner booths, and side by side at her kitchen island during dinner and images things she has no business imagining.

Frank’s face smooths in surprise and he opens his eyes, gaze dropping no further than her own. He looks as awake as if she threw a bucket of ice water on him. Karen steps closer and her breath hitches as he stills, his chest brushing with her own. “Karen,” he says softly, “what are you doin’?”

“I’m testing something. A theory.” She tilts her head up and presses their lips together experimentally. At first it’s like kissing a statue–Frank stands with his hands at his sides and mouth unyielding under hers. There’s half a second where she thinks maybe this was a bad idea, and then he comes to life. His arm snakes around her waist, one hand reaching up to press against her collarbone. His lips move under her and then he’s kissing her, actually kissing her, and by the time she pulls away she’s starting to feel a little light-headed.

Frank’s eyes are hot on hers even in the near-darkness. She sucks in a breath and reaches up to tame his bedhead, smiling. “Was this test graded?” he murmurs, amusement bleeding through his words.

“Oh, yeah. You passed.” She grins. “But…there are bonus points.”

She stares at her, then lets out a laugh that startles her. She’s never heard him laugh like that before, so light and carefree, so open. It’s wonderful, and she can’t help her own laughter. “That was pretty lame, huh?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound too bothered, though. In fact, he reaches down to take her hand and then quiets slightly, searching her face. “You know this is gonna change things, right? We’re–we’re friends. I don’t–I _can’t_ …lose you, if this doesn’t work.”

“Frank…you were never just my friend.” She gives him a soft look, feeling her heart swell at his confusion. “Think about it–of course we were friends, but…hasn’t there always been something…more?”

The worried lines of his face soften. He nods. “You’ve always been there for me,” he murmurs, hand tightening on hers. “I’m just…afraid.”

Karen steps back to look at him, really look at him. The moonlight illuminates the fear in his eyes, the anxious tautness of his shoulders. His lips are twisted into a frown. She puts a hand on his cheek, is emboldened when he leans into her touch. “I’m afraid too,” she whispers, “but we don’t have to rush into this. We’re friends first, and then more. Right?”

His gaze locks onto her, and the tension drains as he smiles. He turns his head and kisses her palm.

“Yeah,” he promises. “Yeah, friends first.”


	23. Frustrated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompted: 89. "I'm not leaving you!"

There are many, many things that frustrated Karen Page about Frank Castle. She gets frustrated when he treks mud through her kitchen. She gets frustrated when he tries to talk her out of following certain stories because they’re  _ too dangerous _ . She gets especially frustrated when he refuses to accept her help, even if he really needs it.

Like now for instance; Frank’s voice is heavy in her ear.  _ “Karen, stay home. Don’t you fuckin’ dare--” _

“Frank, shut the hell up.” She glances down at her GPS then swerves quickly to make her turn. She’s getting closer, maybe five minutes from where Frank is. He’d called her from a broken phone, cursing at the shattered screen. 

_ All I can see if your name, _ he’d growled through gritted teeth.  _ Damn fuckin’ glass smartphone. Call Curtis, Karen. Or Dinah. Or David. Do.  _ **_Not_ ** _. Come. _

That had gone over well. She’d called David, alright, but only to get him to track Frank’s phone and send her the directions. She could tell he was in pain by his ragged breaths, the soft cursing in her ear as she laced her tennis shoes. Now, she flies down a side road towards the little red flag on her GPS, knuckles white on the steering wheel. 

“ _ Karen, god damnit _ \--”

“Frank, I’m not leaving you! Jesus Christ, just keep quiet until I get there.” She’s beyond angry, beyond pissed--she’s terrified. She’s heard him in pain before, but it still sets her on edge. She can detect the raw undertones in his voice as if she were reading it off a page. He gargles out a laugh, but it’s choppy and wet. It makes Karen’s skin crawl. 

_ “No fuckin’ with you, Page. Gotta admire that,” _ he mumbles, and there--the sleepiness creeping into his voice. Karen swallows hard and accelerates, knowing she’s running out of time. He hadn’t told her the extent of his injuries, but she’s determined to find him before it’s too late. 

The GPS echoes in her ears,  **_Your destination is on the left_ ** , and there, the headlights sweep over him and he’s alone and bloody--but alive. Karen braces herself for half a second and then leaps out of the car to help him inside. Because he may frustrate the hell out for her sometimes, but she’d rather be frustrated with him, than miserable without. 

And if his tight grip on her hand is any indication, he feels the same way. 


	24. Pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompted 75. “I’m going for a swim. Do you wanna join me?”

Their hotel is nicer than half the places in Hell’s Kitchen; Karen sets her overnight bag on the bed and sweeps her gaze over the suite in amazement. The king sized bed is covered in a lush, fluffy comforter. The drapes are pulled aside to reveal a beautiful woodsy scene just outside. There are little chocolates on the pillows and she would hazard to guess a fully stocked mini-fridge. She hears the door close and then Frank’s heavy footsteps as he follows her inside.

“Some place,” he says off-handedly, setting his bag down on the chair.

Karen turns to grin at him. It had been a long drive out of the city and she’s having mixed feelings about being back in Vermont, but there’s no mixed feelings about how she feels looking at Frank. He’s watching her with an easy smile, and sometimes she thinks she’ll never been used to seeing his face without bruising. “It’s nice. Way nicer than my apartment—or yours.”

He huffs. “Don’t need anythin’ fancy, ma’am. I’m a simple man.”

It tears a laugh from her; Frank Castle is anything but simple. She turns and rips open her suitcase, grin still on her lips. There’s something about being outside of New York with Frank, that makes her feel like a teenager. She feels scandalous, like she’s sneaking about with a boy under her parents’ noses. Although, it’s directly the opposite—he is meeting them tomorrow, after all. He drops down to sit on the bed and watches her search through her clothes. “Nervous?”

She glances up, humming. “Not really. They shouldn’t know who you are—they don’t really watch the news.”

Frank rolls his eyes upwards. “Karen.”

Of course she’s nervous—she and Frank have been officially dating for nearly six months. The depth of the love she has for him scares her, and she had decided it was time for her parents to meet him. In the grand scheme of things, this is the smallest hurdle they’ve ever faced together. But it’s important. “Yeah, I am. But it’s tomorrow’s problem.”

She finishes rifling through her luggage and yanks out the fabric she was looking for. She gives him an expectant smile. “Now,” she says airily, “I’m going for a swim. Care to join me?”

He squints at her bikini, then barks out a laugh. “Are those skulls?” He says, amused.

“Jess bought it for me as a joke. Now come on, Punisher, let’s see that butterfly stroke.”

She can see that he’s debating going back to the ‘nervous’ conversation, but he decides to humor her. “More of a freestyle guy,” he says, but goes to find his swim trunks anyway.

They can be nervous tomorrow; tonight, they can pretend.


	25. Liminal Spaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by tunte: 60. “Before you decide to murder me, let me explain.”

Ask anyone in Hell’s Kitchen and they will tell you—the docks is where you go to make undesirable friends, do shady business, or get yourself killed. It’s Hell’s Kitchen’s own little liminal space, the boat horns lost in the water’s haze, and the crime seemingly untouchable by the law. 

Which is where Karen Page comes in. She sneaks to the docks and hides between shipping containers, snapping pictures on her camera and taking notes. Sometimes she goes during the day, but mostly at night with the cover of darkness. She’s been investigating a sex trafficking ring and has been waiting for one of the major players to show his face—and she’s confident tonight is the night. All it would take is one picture for her to form a solid case and present it to Ellison for approval. 

The universe has other plans for her, however. She ends up connecting eyes with a group of thugs and has to take off, sneakers pounding heavily on the ground as they begin their chase. Her car is several blocks away, for safety, and she runs until the air burns in her lungs and her legs get wobbly with exertion. When she thinks she can’t run any longer, she runs past an alley and is clotheslined by a leather-clad arm. The last thing she sees before sinking into darkness is Jessica Jones' unamused face hovering above her own. 

 

—

 

She wakes to rough fingers on her face, and something cold pressed to her head. 

“Karen?” The voice is urgent, so low it's nearly a vibration in her ear. She struggles to gather her surroundings but it’s hard past the pain throbbing in her temple. She groans and opens her eyes slowly, and Frank’s face comes swimming into view. His expression is creased with worry.

Just beyond his shoulder, Jessica stands with her arms crossed. Her expression is a mixture of boredom and amusement. “Scared the piss out of me, blondie. Sorry for knocking you out.” 

Frank shoots her a glare that could peel paint, then turns back to Karen and gives her a lesser version. “What the fuck were you doin’ down there?” 

Karen huffs and then immediately grimaces at the stab of pain it produces. She sits up slowly, noting that she’s laying on her bed. The bag of frozen peas that had been pressed to her temple falls onto her lap. Frank’s hands hover over her, and she figures he’s not that mad at her. Well...probably. “I was getting some information for a story.” 

“She was being chased by thugs,” Jessica supplies helpfully. 

“ _ Jess _ ,” Karen hisses. Frank is furious. He stares down at her and she hurries to continue. “Before you decide to murder me, let me explain. I’m following this—“

“I know what you’re doing, Karen. You’re following  _ another _ story that’s going to get you killed.” He looks away, trigger finger twitching in agitation. “When are you gonna learn you can’t do this shit—“

“Well why the fuck not?” She’s angry now too. Angry that everyone around her can go and creep around in the middle of the night, but when she wants to do it, she’s treated like glass. What makes her any different--that she doesn’t spray paint her chest or wear a mask?

He stares at her, tense. Jessica slips from the room without a word, and they look at each other in silence. Finally, Frank says, “I was gonna say  _ alone _ .” 

Karen’s face smooths in surprise. “Oh.” 

Frank scoffs. “I know I can’t stop you. You’re too fuckin’ stubborn. But at least I can be there to protect you.” 

She feels a little foolish, now. Here she was, ready to fight with him over this, when all he wants is to keep her safe. She hesitates, then reaches a hand out. He looks at it warily, and then at her insistence takes it and sits next to her. She rests her head on his shoulder with a sigh. “Sorry...for yelling. Thank you for looking out for me.” 

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but the movement jars another stab of white-hot agony through her temple. “Ow,” she winces, moving away. Frank presses the semi-frozen bag of vegetables back to her temple. He frowns at her. 

“You’re not makin’ my job any easier,” he tells her, but she can hear the faint fondness in his tone. 

Karen smiles, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

Jessica pops her head back in and raises her brows at their intertwined position. “I’m outta here, but if you’re looking for a picture of what’s-his-name-sex-trafficker, I managed to snag one. I can email it to you.”

Karen blinks, shocked, excitement making her heart thrum. “Jess, really?”

“Least I could do. You know--the head.” She points to her own, then grins and disappears again. Karen lets out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and looks back at Frank just in time to see him roll his eyes. 

“You’re gonna run the story,” he deadpans. 

“Yep.”

“And more of these shitbags will be after you.”

“Probably.”

Agitation and admiration fights for dominance; finally, he just shakes his head. “You’re gonna kill me, Page.”

She can’t help her smile. He’s still pressing the makeshift ice pack to her head, and his thigh is pressed warmly against hers. His eyes are soft, and his lips twitched upwards. Karen thinks that if she has to get knocked out once or twice for him to look at her like that, it’s well worth it. 


	26. Shaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @thewintersoldierdisaster on tumblr (go follow!!) was talking about frank breaking an arm or collarbone and needing karen's help with mundane tasks...so here we are (no regrets)

He’s been extremely lucky, he supposes. In all his years of fighting overseas, in all his time fighting his way through the litany of garbage in Hell’s Kitchen, all throughout his fight to avenge his family, Frank Castle has never had an injury that has prevented him from taking care of himself. He’s been down and out, sure. He’s been shot through with an arrow, beat to hell and bedridden, but this—this is too much.

“Shit,” he sighs, bracing himself on Karen’s bathroom sink. The cast on his right arm is restricting and itchy against his skin, but more importantly it’s preventing him from using his dominant hand. He glares at it in the mirror, then lifts his eyes to his beard. He’s managed to trim it with his left hand, but shaving it is a whole other monster. Out of all the skills he’s managed to master, ambidexterity is not one of them.

“Frank? You okay in there?”

Karen’s voice is muffled through the door. He lifts his head and feels the familiar hum of pain across his collarbone. He’s still amazed (and a little frustrated, if he’s honest) that out of everything, he’s managed to break his collarbone in something as simple as tackle football. Luckily it had been him rather than David (otherwise they would have never heard the end of it), and even luckier, Curtis had been the one to tackle him and then subsequently the one to drive him to the hospital for x-rays.

Unluckily, a broken collarbone and bulky cast isn’t exactly convenient.

“‘m fine,” he grunts, but by the time he’s answered she has already pushed open the door to investigate. She takes one look at the shaving cream on his face and his annoyed expression and bursts into laughter.

“Here,” she says between chuckles, “let me help with that.”

He considers telling her no, but her eyes are warm and soft and fingers gentle as she pushes at his good shoulder. He sits on the toilet seat cover and she steps between his legs, carefully draping a towel over his shoulders. Frank tilts his head up to grant her easier access and doesn’t miss the way her smile widens when he does.

“You could have just asked,” she chides quietly over the running water of the sink.

Frank hums in agreement. Her lower lip is pulled between her teeth in concentration, fingers soft on his jaw. He keeps his hands flat on his legs, the heat of her body filling the small space between them. When she starts shaving, drawing the razor down in smooth, confident strokes, Frank suspects she’s done this before. When he asks, she still his jaw with a sharp look, then nods. “My dad broke his arm once, when I was in high school. My mom was visiting her parents for the week so I was suckered in to help.”

There’s not a lot Frank knows about her family or childhood, and her tone doesn’t leave much room for comments, so he doesn’t. Instead, he quirks a smile. “Sounds like it’s been a while. Should I be worried?”

“Just call me Sweeney Todd,” she mutters, tilting his chin with deft fingers.

He tempers his laugh, pursing his lips. It’s quiet in the bathroom, other than the water and their breathing. It’s nice; peaceful. These moments are coming more frequently for them as he adapts to his role as Pete Castiglione. Soft touches and quiet mornings, just enjoying each other’s company.

It’s another few minutes before she’s finished, each touch of her fingers on his skin like a brand—but not entirely unwelcome. She turns and leans over the sink, washing the razor and wetting a towel. Frank can’t help himself then; he runs a hand up over her hip and lets it rest on her waist. Touching her always feels like something of a gift, something that he doesn’t deserve but welcomes anyway. And when she turns to give him a happy albeit confused look, he can only smile.

“We’re not done yet,” she warns on a quiet laugh, running the warm towel over his face. Once she’s wiped away the remainder of the shaving cream, she leans down to kiss his cheek.

“There you are,” she whispers against his skin. Her words are mystified, awestruck, happy. It fills him with a warmth he can’t name, to know he can make her sound like that. “Want to take a look, make sure its okay?”

“I trust you,” he says simply.

She pauses, then reaches down and carefully adjusts his brace. She’s wearing the smile Maria usually reserved for when he did something romantic without meaning to. Her hands cup his face gently. “Come on, it’s time for you to take your pain meds.”

There’s a throb in his chest, but it’s born out of the fondness of her tone, the slow way she brushes her fingers over skin as she searches for scruff she may have missed. He turns his head and kisses her palm.

“Thank you,” he tells her, emotion making the words thick. “For everything.”

_For bringing me back to life._

She only smiles and turns to wash out the sink, and then gives him a pointed look when he doesn’t move. “Go take your meds, Frank.”

The laugh that bubbles out jars his collarbone and a lightning bolt of pain stabs across his shoulder. He grimaces, standing. “Yes, ma’am,” he grumbles, heading into the kitchen.

Her amused laugh follows him out, and the sound of it lightens his pain, if only for a moment.


	27. Puppy Sweater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by tunte on tumblr: 72. “I will knock you on your ass if you even think about it.”
> 
> established relationship ft max the pup <3

“Okay baby,” Karen coos, kneeling in front of Max. The blue-grey pitbull sits still for her, but his ears are perked with curiosity. She leans over and begins working the cloth over his square head, grinning. “You’re going to love this! And Dad’s going to love it too, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

“What don’t I know?”

Karen jumps half a foot into the air, letting out a shriek. Max yelps in surprise, snout sticking out of the hole in his new puppy sweater. Karen turns and shields the dog with her body, trying to hide her guilty expression. She hears the sweater drop to the floor as Max attempts to shoulder his way around her.  

“Oh, you’re home!” She says to his bemused frown.

Frank raises his brows, closing the door. “What’re you doin’?”

“Weeell, it’s starting to get cold out….” Karen grimaces as Max barrels around her to greet Frank, butt wagging happily. “….and I thought…”

“Oh no.” Frank stares at her, then the dog, horrified. “Karen,  _no_.”

“Oh, please, Frank!” She grabs the sweater and walks over to the pair of them. “Come on, we always see the dogs in the park wearing them and they’re so  _cute_!”

“Karen, I love you,” he says, reaching down to pet the dog, “But I’ll knock you on your ass if you even think about it.”

Karen rolls her eyes, hands on her hips. “You are so dramatic. Max thinks it’s a great idea!”

“Max doesn’t know better,” he says, kneeling to rub the dog’s belly. “I’m not puttin’ that on him.”

“You’re right,  _you’re_  not—“

“And neither are you.” His eyebrows raise. He’s got that stubborn look on his face, the same expression as when he tries to tell her to drop a dangerous story or when he tries to get her to go to bed at a decent hour. Karen sighs.

“Fine.”

“I mean it, Karen. No sweater.”

“Sure.”

He narrows his eyes, then gives her an amused look. “If you do I’m sleepin’ on the couch.”

Leave it to Frank Castle to be the only man in the world to threaten a woman with taking the couch. She huffs and crosses her arms as he steps into the bathroom to wash up. Once he’s gone, she turns and gives Max a wink.

“He won’t always be here to say no, right Max?”

“I heard that,” Frank calls.

Karen groans but Max only yelps happily, running off to find something else to occupy his attention, sweater forgotten.


	28. Suits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon requested: If you have the time could you possibly write some variation of 66 "The only thing I want is you." Or 97 "I want you and I know you want me too."

Drunk Frank Castle is a force to be reckoned with, just as Karen had suspected. He’s relaxed but high energy, physical but withdrawn. A series of contradictions wrapped up in a cloud of bourbon-haze and a wide, lax smile. **  
**

He’s laying on her couch, head pillowed on her thigh. Minutes ago her hand had strayed too close and he’s long since begun drawing patterns on her palm with his fingers. It’s a comforting feeling, having him here, having him drop down his walls enough to get this hammered with her. They are celebrating after all.

“I can’t believe you’re taking over Anvil,” she says for about the hundredth time. It’s not a job she would have pictured him in, but once he’d told her about it she couldn’t see it any other way.

Frank lets out a whoosh of air that sounds a little like a sigh. “Madani offered. I took it. Tha’s all.”

“Does this mean you’re going to start wearing suits?” Karen recalls the impeccably dressed Billy Russo, and has a hard time imagining the look on Frank.

His answering snort is enough. “You’d love that.”

“Yep.” Karen pops the word, smiling distantly. She hates thinking about his trial, but he had looked great in the courtroom during it–even covered in bruises. She would definitely be curious to see what a three piece suit _unbruised_ would do to her emotions. Or her libido, for that matter.

His head moves and he looks up at her, brows raised. “Oh yeah? That what you want–me in a suit?”

“The only thing I want is you.” Frank stills. Karen pauses, realizing with a flush what had escaped her mouth. Damn whiskey. “I mean, you _happy_. I want you to be _happy_.”

Frank squints up at her, nose scrunching up like he doesn’t quite believe her. He sits up and turns to face her. She knows she’s been caught by the slow grin that’s lifting his cheeks. “Yeah?”

She hums. “Of course. What, do you think I have some ulterior motive here?”

“Startin’ to, sweetheart.”

Karen’s brows raise. If he’s throwing out pet names, he must be more drunk than she realized. Not that she’s any better off, but this is uncharted territory for them. Usually at least one of them is sober enough to–… _To hold back. To be responsible_ , she thinks. He catches her pensive look and frowns, but his flushed cheeks and glassy eyes make it seems more of a pout.

“Didn’t mean t’ offend,” he grumbles.

Karen gives him a slow grin. “You know we’re both drunk, right?” His answering blank stare prods her forward. “That means neither of us has one of those little voices telling us not to do–…stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” He sounds intrigued, and a little playful. It’s new on him, and she finds that she likes the teasing in his voice just as much as the deep timbre of his normal voice. She leans forward and hovers, lips a breath away from his own. She flicks her eyes up to his..

“Oh,” she ponders as he stares down at her, “Normal stuff. Like what two normal people would do when they’re celebrating and a little drunk.”

“A little?”

She laughs, a soft huff against his lips. “Okay, a lot drunk.”

He leans forward, but only to rest his forehead against her own. The whiskey on his breath makes shives break out on her skin. “Karen,” he sighs, fingers brushing along her spine. “don’t do this to me.”

“Do what?” She wants to kiss him, _god_ she wants to kiss him. She stays still.

“This is it for me.” He opens his eyes to stare at her, expression intense and gentle and wild and tender all at once. It makes her head spin. “If I kiss you now, you gotta know—this is it. You prepared for that?”

“Are you?” She challenges. Even drunk, she’s never been one to back down.

Frank searches her face for something, and she assumes he finds it because then he’s sweeping her up, hands on her, lips on her own, breath hot and needy in her mouth. He makes a small noise when he hands dip under his shirt to brush over the smooth muscles there. She grins against his lips, trailing kisses across his jaw, his scruff prickling her.

Several hot, breathy minutes later Frank stills beneath her. She pulls away to look at him and a hum of satisfaction buzzes through her at the sight. His short curls are in disarray, his shirt halfway up his stomach, and his pupils are blown. He takes a quick breath and looks at her in amazement.

“How long you been plannin’ this, Page?”

Her look of feigned innocence doesn’t fool him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Frank. I’m just a woman kissing a man.”

He huffs a laugh, his fingers brushing up her spine. At some point she had crawled onto his lap and both her knees were planting firmly on either side of his thighs. He lets his head drop back against the couch to look at her properly. “Ain’t nobody think you’re just a woman, Karen Page.”

She laughs loud. “Flatterer.”

“Maybe. True, though.” His lashes flutter and he tilts his chin up towards her. “Now c’mere, I’m not done with you yet.”

“Hope that’s a promise,” she shoots back, and then he’s kissing her again and she doesn’t say much more after that.


	29. Taking Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompted: Frank and Karen get in a huge, heated argument and Frank slips up about his feelings for Karen? Maybe a kiss if it feels right?

When Karen was young, she fell out of a tree. It was a huge oak tree in her backyard and her brother and his friend had dared her to climb all the way to the top. She grabbed a hold of a lower branch before the dare had even left their lips and hoisted herself up. Halfway there was a crack that made her stomach clench uncomfortably and then she was falling. **  
**

She woke up with her brother staring down at her in horrified tears, and the shriek of her name from her mother’s mouth. It had broken her arm–but not her spirit.

Her childhood was filled with instances like these. Reckless dares, adventurous pursuits, being grounded for getting into trouble. Her teenage years were a little more calm, but her inability to let sleeping things lie followed her well into adulthood. Like now, for example.

She hisses as Frank’s hands feel their way over her ankle. She’s no medical expert but by the swelling and the ugly shade of purple, she can assume it’s broken. Or severely fractured, at the very least. He touches something that makes a lightning bolt of pain shot up her leg and directly into her chest. Tears spring into her eyes and she digs her nails into her palms to keep from yelping.

Frank looks up at her, somehow gentle and angry all at once.

“I told you to leave this alone,” he tells her reproachfully, through a scowl. _This_ being the story she’d been chasing all the way to it’s climax tonight in some seedy bar downtown.

Karen takes a few shallow breaths, willing the pain to subside. “People were–were getting hurt–…”

“You got hurt,” he shoots back, annoyed. He sets her foot down carefully and then stands to grab an ice pack. ‘You’re gonna need a doctor.”

“I’m fine,” she mutters, bracing herself before attempting to stand. She’s got some painkillers in the bathroom screaming her name. As soon as she stands, her vision goes white with pain.

Frank catches her just before she tumbles to the ground, knees weak. His arms are strong and warm around her but she’s lost to the haze in her head. The room spins and the next thing she knows she’s sitting down and he’s crouched in front of her, hands gripping her arms. She shakes her head slowly and blinks away spots, frowning.

“Frank, stop.” She attempts to pull away, annoyed. “I’m fi–…”

“If you say you’re fine one more time I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind, Karen.”

The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, but she’s never been one to listen. Especially to the little voice in her head telling her to give up the fight while she still can. She scowls right back at him. “What’s your problem? I lived, and the bad guys were caught. Or is that what you’re mad about–you didn’t get to put them down yourself?”

He rubs a hand through his hair, frustration oozing out of him. “You think that’s what I’m pissed about? Are you fuckin’ with me?”

“What else would it be?” She glares at him, the pain making her irritable. All she wants is to take some medicine and crawl into bed–and all that’s standing in her way is the Punisher. “Come on, Frank. You show up at the last minute and spook the hell out of me, you refuse to talk to me after you find out the bad guys are in the police’s hands instead of your own, and then you follow me home just to chastise me like I’m some sort of–”

She doesn’t get to finish that sentence because suddenly Frank’s hands are on her again and she thinks _I’ve pushed him too far_ before she realizes that he’s kissing her. The shock keeps her still and then he pulls away and stands. There’s a victorious little smirk on his lips that he can’t quite taper down.

“I–…you–” Karen blinks up at him, stunned. She scrambles to gather herself and gives him a glare that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You could have just used your words, you know.”

“Always been more of a ‘take action’ kinda guy.” He turns then pauses and looks back at her, raising a brow. “That okay?”

She huffs, but she’s smiling. “I’m still mad at you,” she mutters.

His eye roll is not missed. “Got meds in the cabinet?” he asks in lieu of an answer, stalking off towards the bathroom. She doesn’t answer and just watches him go, still trying to catch up to what just happened. Frank Castle had just kissed her. And now he’s playing nurse to her fractured-possibly-broken ankle. The thought makes her light-headed. She watches him come back with a grin that she can’t seem to tame. Her ankle might still hurt like a bitch but the pleasant warmth spreading through her makes it just a little more bearable.

And so does Frank’s amused look when he catches her dopey smile, but really, who can blame her?


	30. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompted: Also, I don't know if you're still accepting drabble prompts from that list, but if you are, could you please write something for 59. "Tell me to go and I will, but if you ask me to stay I'll never leave you again."

The the bell above Johnnie’s Hardware’s door jingles happily as Frank steps through, a blast of cool air hitting him in the face. Sarah Lieberman sighs gratefully as she follows him in. He grabs a basket and shoots her an amused look.

“Y’know you didn’t have to come, right?”

Sarah huffs, following him towards the back of the store. “Pete, if I don’t learn this stuff, no one will. And then what will we do when Leo goes off to school? Trust _David_?”

He chuckles, eyes scanning the shelves. “You got some time before we gotta resort to that. And I’m a good stand-in.”

She hums, adjusting the strap of her purse. “Maybe so. But no way in hell I was staying in that furnace of a house. At least the van has AC. Might as well keep you company.”

Frank shakes his head, stopping before the shelves carrying the parts needing for her air conditioning system. It had gone out the day before and, due to the intense summer, the handyman had a list of clients will the same problem. After a full twenty-four hours of sweltering heat, David had called asking for his help. Frank was glad to do it and while David was at work he’d gone to survey the problem and picked up a tag-along into town.

Said tag-along is currently staring at the shelves critically. She leans forward to read the little labels underneath the parts and Frank steps over, picking up what he needs. He explains each part, what it’s called and what it’s for. Her blank stare tells him she’s regretting her decision to be included, and eventually he huffs. “Alright, that’s it. Ready?”

“I actually wanted to look at shower heads. Do you mind? The kids broke theirs–somehow.” Her frustrated sigh reminds him painfully of one of Maria’s after the kids had caused trouble. He gives her a tight nod and leads her to the opposite side of the store, turning the corner and stopping short.

Sarah collides into his back with a small yelp, and the woman scanning the shelves in front of them turns to look, jolted.

“Frank,” Karen says, eyes widening.

There aren’t many thing that scare a man like Frank Castle, anymore. Standing here with Karen Page in her shorts and tank top, a baffled and hurt expression on her face, is absolutely one of them. “Karen,” he says, but it comes out on a choke.

Her eyes fall to Sarah and the change in her is immediate. Her surprised hurt turns to a polite but confused smile. She lifts her basket on her hip and glances at Frank. He can see the panic in her eyes, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s because she’s said his real name in front of a woman she doesn’t know. Always protecting him, even when she’s hurt.

Sarah steps forward excitedly. “Karen? As in Karen Page? I’ve heard so much about you–I’m Sarah Lieberman. It’s nice to put a name to the face!”

She blinks, digesting the information, and then relaxes slightly. “Oh, hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

Frank shifts awkwardly. It’s been nearly six months since they’ve been face to face. After the carousel and the hospital, he’d sent her a text ( _I’m fine, it’s over. I need some time_.) and then retreated into himself much like before. It had taken weeks and months of group sessions with Curtis, dinners with the Lieberman family, and working as Pete Castiglione for him to work up the nerve to approach her. By that time it had been long enough he was sure she wouldn’t want to see him–she had stopped sending texts and calling weeks before.

He meets her gaze. “What’re, uh, what’re you doin’ here?”

She yanks her hair behind her ear and turns back to the shelves in front of her. It’s a familiar gesture that makes his chest ache. “My stupid sink is clogged and my super is a creepy asshole.”

Sarah’s elbow jabs him in his ribs and he blinks, realizing he’s been staring. “Uh. D’you need some help?”

Karen turns to him with sad, frustrated eyes. She looks like she’s debating on saying no. “If you have better things to do–”

“Oh, he doesn’t.” Sarah grins, plucking the basket from his hand. “Leo should be home from school soon. She can help me. Pete, why don’t you go help Karen?”

Frank feels a familiar panic blossom in his chest as both women look at him, waiting. He nods, a quick jerk of his head. Sarah squeezes his arm and smiles at Karen. “Nice to meet you, Karen! Maybe one day we can get some lunch.”

Karen returns her smile and this time it’s a little softer, a little more genuine. “Thanks, Sarah. I’d like that.”

Sarah waves and walks off towards the shower heads, and Karen’s gaze lands on him again. The air between them is stale with unsaid words, and he eventually looks away at the tools. “You know what kinda leak?”

She describes the problem and he grabs the appropriate parts for her, trying to keep himself busy. Soon enough they’re out the door and into the wet summer heat towards her place.

Her apartment is just as he remembers. Same eclectic bookshelf, same tiny kitchen and same beers pulled from the fridge. It gives him deja vu, taking the bottle from her outstretched hand as she looks at him with searching blue eyes. He lowers his head and mutters, “I should take a look at that” and then he’s under the sink and out of sight. Karen sits on the island opposite him, her flip-flop clad feet swinging into view everytime he looks down the length of his body. Her toes are painted a deep red. He turns to the task at hand.

“Is it fixable?” She calls after a moment.

“Yeah. Easy fix,” he grunts back, tightening and loosening and doing everything he can to keep his mind off the woman not three feet away. When he finishes and stands, he flicks on the tap and washes his hands slowly. It works fine.

Her gaze burns holes in the back of his head. He stares down at the suds on his hands and forces the words out. “…sorry I haven’t been around.”

Karen huffs, half amused and half…something else. Something he can’t quite name. Something close to betrayal, but not quite. “Yeah, well, I guess I should be used to it by now.”

He turns, drying his hands on a towel. The label of her beer bottle is peeled away methodically; scraps of paper fall onto the floor. “What’s that mean?”

She glances up, catches him watching and straightens her spine. She cocks her head, considering her words with an unwavering stare. “It means you and Matt and everybody else I care about seem to think they can just come in and out of my life and I’ll just keep letting them do it.” She pauses, looking away, and then says quietly, “…letting _you_ do it.”

Shame fills him up until he feels like he’s going to drown in it. It’s taken weeks and months of searching to find out who he is, after everything was over. He’s still not entirely sure he knows, but he knows he’s not someone who can just let the people he cares about think he doesn’t. He twists the towel in his hands, then tosses it aside. He runs a hand through his hair and waits until her eyes came back. “I wanted to come back here. Almost did, a couple of times.”

She’s a little taller than him, perched on the counter like she is. She stares down at him, surprised at the admission. “Why didn’t you?”

“I had to get my shit straight.” Frank rubs his neck. He’s getting that feeling at the base of his skull—nervous, on edge, awkward—it’s the same thing he feels every time he opens up in group. “And I couldn’t drag you back into it, y’know? You—you did so much for me. It’s not fair to expect you to clean up this.” He gestures vaguely to his head, scowling. She doesn’t say anything so he looks away, energy draining with one long sigh. “I’ve been goin’ to group, and workin’, yeah? But I wanted to come back and be—…”

Her toes wiggle in his peripheral when he trails off. She shifts. “Be what?”

“…fuck, I don’t know, worthy?” He looks up and catches her raised brows. “I know, shit’s corny but…You’re one of the best people I know and I–…if I were lookin’ in on all this from outside, I’d want me to get my shit together first. Yeah? You’re worth the wait–that’s all.”

He hasn’t been so honest since that first afternoon in group. When he’d looked around the circle of women and men with the same exhausted defeat on their faces and said _I’m scared_. He’s a little surprised with himself now, if he’s honest, but there’s a gentleness settling in the soft slope of her lips so he can’t regret his candidness too much.

“What are you trying to say, Frank?”

He exhales slow, bracing himself. “I’m sayin’ tell me to go and I will…but tell me to stay and I’ll never leave again.”

Karen gives him a measured look, but her cheeks are lifting into a wide smile. She holds out a hand and he takes it, marvels at the smooth skin there and the beauty mark on her index finger. She tugs him closer, pulls his hand to rest on her thigh and covers his chest with her own. He peers up at her looking wrecked and star struck all at once.

“Promise?” she asks quietly. “Because Frank…I can’t watch you walk away again.”

His hand comes up to cup her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. Gentleness bleeds out of his eyes, buzzes around her skin. He leans forward and presses his temple to her own, the quietness of the kitchen filling the air around them.

“Promise.”


	31. Foggy Finds Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompted: Frank sneaking into karen's apartment and scaring the shit out of foggy, he stayed in the sofa because they've been drinking and chatting and before they realized it was too late and karen told him to stay but she forgot to tell frank about it
> 
> I really love Foggy–he’s one of my favorite MCU characters. This gave me a nice chance to explore his character. And also, a little established! Kastle? I think so! Hope you like xoxo

> **6:23pm  
> **

Karen’s favorite coffee shop is one she discovered while working at Nelson & Murdock. It’s equidistant from her apartment and where the firm used to be, and it’s constantly busy, but the ambiance always keeps her coming back. The coffee is dark, delicious and reasonably priced. The people are kind–beyond the usual for a busy New York shop. She makes a habit to stop by on her way home from work for a early evening pick me up, and stands out of the way as she waits for her name to be called. It’s a Thursday and her weekend is so close she can taste it; her week has been full of fluff pieces and boring headliners with one of their journalists out for the flu.

Her schedule is clear for the night. She plans to enjoy some indulgent coffee and a stream of reality tv—until she hears it.

“One medium mocha latte for Foggy!”

Karen snaps her head up at the familiar name. A similarly familiar stocky head of blonde hair waltzes up to the barista counter. She grins and pushes her way through, grabbing his arm as he turns.

“Kare!” Foggy calls once he realizes who has a hold of his sleeve. His face breaks into a wide, genuine smile. “What a beautiful surprise!”

Karen feels her mood lifting just at the sight of it.  She pulls him in for a tight hug. “Oh, Fog, I’ve missed you! How is the firm? How is Marci?”

He nods vigorously, blond locks swinging. “Stressful and beautiful, respectively. How’s the paper? Everyone I talk to loves your articles. You’re a modern day–well, I don’t know many famous journalists. But a modern day one of them.”

She shakes her head in amusement, leaning over to grab her coffee when her name is called. “It’s great, Fog.” An idea strikes her. “Hey, do you have any plans? I was going to make something to eat and I’m out of articles for the night–”

“Karen,” Foggy says with mock gravity, “I would be _honored_ to eat noodles and butter with you.”

> **7:15pm**

“Alright, alright,” Foggy laughs, sitting back and patting his belly dramatically, “I take it back. The noodles and butter joke was in bad taste…pun intended.”

Karen and Foggy are sitting on her couch, half-eaten bowls of pad thai between them. She had pulled the recipe out and thrown together something extravagant; after all, it’s been months (a fact that makes her cringe) since she actually spent time with Foggy. It’s cause for something a little fancier than normal. Karen grins over her beer bottle at him. “I have a couple tricks up my sleeve, Fog.”

“You’re right. You’re definitely not one to be underestimated. It will never happen again.”

“I’d hope not, you should know better by now,” she laughs, grabbing more beer. He shoots off a smart ass remark behind her, and Karen thinks _I missed this_ before returning to her place on the couch.

> **10:46pm**

Karen exits the bathroom a good while later and stops short at the sight that greets her. “Uh, Fog…what are you doing?”

Foggy turns with a jump and looks at her sheepishly. “You know. I got a little bored, a little curious. As men are want to do.”

She presses her fingers to her mouth and bites back a laugh. “So you decided to try on my heels?”

He’s holding onto the wall for support, and the black pumps on his feet are looking a little wobbly. He glances down and flails his free arm, stumbling. “Well, I mean, yeah. Why not? I can’t be this weird with Marci’s shoes, she’d dump me for sure.”

Karen nods sagely. “You’re right. But honestly, I think the open toe is more your style.”

Foggy tilts his head as if considering her words. “You know what, I think you’re right. And also–I had no idea you had such giant feet, Kare.”

“Hey!”

> **2:03am**

“So Marci says to them, _hey, dickhole, you know what it’s like to get your ass handed to you in court? Well I do_ and the guy shut right the hell up.” Foggy throws back the rest of his beer, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Karen stares at him in wide-eyed wonder. “Remind me to never piss Marci off.”

He shakes his head, amused. “Nah, it’s only pre-coffee, post-cat called Marci you have to be careful of. And post-visit from her parents Marci. Otherwise I think you two would really hit it off.”

Karen smiles. “I’d like to actually meet her, one day.”

He gives her a wicked expression. “Yeah, we can make it a double date. Us, you, and that mystery guy that uses the second toothbrush in your bathroom.”

Karen carefully schools her expression, even though her heartbeat picks up dangerously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She stands to grab another beer but stumbles and holds on to the arm of the couch, eyes wide. She’s a lot more drunk than she realized. Foggy makes a small noise of disbelief behind her.

“Sure, sure, whatever you say. Oh shit, Kare, it’s two in the morning!”

She turns to look at the clock and grimaces. “Shit–I have to get some sleep before work tomorrow. Want to crash on the couch?”

He gives her a grateful look that’s ruined by the flush on his face and glassy eyes. “I was hoping you’d ask. I can’t even _stomach_ the idea of a two a.m. cab ride.”

She nods and heads towards the linen closet to pull out some spare blankets.

> **4:16am**

Karen wakes to screams, and then a muffled _thunk_.

“Foggy??” She jumps up and runs into the other room, then takes a moment to process what she’s seeing.

Foggy stands on the far side of the room, the lamp from her side table held above his head defensively. At the other end of the room, just inside the open window, is Frank Castle.

_Shit_ , she thinks, somewhere in the back of her mind. _Frank is back in town today._

“K-Karen, stay back. Uh, I mean, if you have a gun somewhere that would be great but—“

It’s not hard for her to see Frank is less than enthused by this turn of events. He stands still in the half-light of the morning, bag over one shoulder, and then reaches behind him and shuts the window with a snap. Foggy jumps at the sound, and Karen steps over to take the lamp from him.

“Fog, I have to tell you something…” she starts, unsure. She glances back at Frank, who only frowns, shifting. She knows he’s tired by the way he’s looking at her, like he’s about to sleep where he stands. Like he’s been driving all night just to make it back to her before she woke. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”

Foggy is looking at her like he’s just discovered her second head. “The—the second toothbrush?”

“Mine,” Frank says shortly. “I’m showerin’ unless you need me to be part of this.”

Karen shakes her head and he brushes past into the bathroom, giving her hand a gentle squeeze on the way. She’s glad that it’s still semi-dark, because if she were to look close she would be sure to find blood on his clothes. She tugs carefully at Foggy and he trails after her into the kitchen, eyes wide.

“I don’t. He isn’t. You. What???”

Karen turns on the coffee pot and rubs her face to try and dissipate the remainder of sleep and alcohol. “It’s kind of a long story…um…I guess I should start at the beginning.”

> **6:37am**

“So you’re friends with a Homeland agent.”

Frank grimaces, tapping his mug absently. He leans back in his chair and looks the picture of calm–but Karen knows better. He’s on edge. “Friends… acquaintances…”

Foggy blinks. He looks much more awake now, and much _less_ freaked out. He nods slowly. “And you hid out in a basement for 6 months with a computer hacker.”

“Yep.”

“And now Frank Castle is dead.”

“Officially.”

“Because Homeland wiped your prints. And now you’re—uh, Pete—?”

“Castiglione.”

“And you’re dating Karen.”

A smile finally pulls at the corner of his mouth. He glances over at Karen, who returns his smile evenly. “Is that what we’re callin’ it?”

“We’re not labelling it,” she says in the tone of someone sharing an inside joke, then laughs. “Come on Foggy, you’ve been interrogating us for hours.”

He gives her an affronted look. “This is a pretty big secret to keep, Kare. And from your best, most-good looking friend? I think I have a right to some questions.”

Frank gets up to pour more coffee and she doesn’t miss the way Foggy tenses until he’s walked by. “Okay, fine. You’re right. I’m sorry but…you understand right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.” Foggy sighs. “But whatever makes you happy, Kare. Even if it is 200 pounds of pure, murderous muscle.”

“185,” Frank corrects over his shoulder, amused.

Foggy’s expression is a mixture of baffled and impressed. He wants to say something else, she can tell, but he holds his tongue. Indecision flashes across his face, “I gotta go to work,” he sighs after a minute.

“I’ll walk you out,” she offers quickly.

Frank clears his throat. “I will. You gotta get ready for work.”

The room holds it breath as Karen looks at Frank, head tilted. She notices again how exhausted he looks, even after a shower. His hair has grown out a little in the last week in a half, and there are dark bags under his eyes. He meets her stare evenly, and there’s something behind his gaze that says _let me do this_. She finally nods and stands.

“Okay. Fog, thanks for coming over. Call me soon?”

Foggy clears his throat, nervous. “Uh, yep, yeah. Will do.”

She hugs him, shoots Frank a concerned look (which he studiously ignores) and then heads into the bathroom.

> **7:05am**

If there is one thing Foggy never would have imagined would happen to him, its being escorted downstairs by Frank Castle, the Punisher–and especially not directly after learning everything there is to know about the last year or so of his life. There’s so much to unpack; the set up of Frank’s family’s murder, his time on the run, Karen’s tireless defense of him, and of course their relationship. It’s enough to make Foggy’s head spin if he thinks about it too hard.

Frank is silent at his side as they ride the elevator down. Foggy keeps his back straight keeps his eyes forward, unsettled by the stoic man next to him. The elevator pings and they step out into the quiet lobby.

“Listen, Nelson,” Frank finally says, gruff. He stops short, crossing his arms. Foggy turns to look at him, wary, but the look on Frank’s face is more sheepish than anything. “During the trial—I uh, I fucked it up. Sorry if it caused you any grief.”

“Ah,” Foggy gives him a nervous smile. “It sounds like we were way out of our league anyways.”

Frank nods. “And about Karen—“

Foggy shakes his head, holding up his hands placatingly. “Just try and keep her out of it, you know? Out of trouble.”

Frank scoffs, crossing his arms. “Yeah. She doesn’t make that easy.”

They share a conspiratory grin, then Foggy huffs out a laugh. “See you around, _Pete_.”

> **7:26am**

Karen steps out of the bathroom into Frank’s waiting arms. He cups her face in his hands without preamble and slots his mouth over hers with a hum. She’s still damp from the shower and her hair is wrapped up in a towel but he doesn’t seem to mind. His hands are hungry on her skin, fingers gliding across every exposed inch greedily. She steps into his space and shivers at the chill of the hallway air. After a moment, she pulls away just enough to press her forehead to his.

“I missed you,” she sighs.

“Stay home,” he rumbles back, hands landing on her hips.

Karen pulls back to look at him. “Frank…”

“Come on,” he murmurs, ducking his head to kiss her jaw. He trails his lips down to where the towel meets her skin and bites playfully. “Work from home.”

“I never get anything done when you’re here,” she argues, but her smile grows as his hand runs up her thigh. “How about I go in for half a day, and then come back and we make dinner? You need to get some sleep, anyway.”

She takes his grumble as a very reluctant yes. Before he can pull back, she envelopes him in a tight hug. “I’m sorry about Foggy. I didn’t even think about you coming home, and we were drinking…”

He laughs, deep in her ear. “We survived.”

Karen steps away and heads towards the bedroom. “You didn’t scare him out of my life forever down there, did you?”

“Nah. Nelson can hold his own.” Frank leans on the doorway, watching as she rummages through her closet. “I uh, I apologized. For the trial.”

Karen turns to examine his expression, surprised. She narrows her eyes. “You must be more tired than I thought.”

Frank scoffs, flushing. “He’s important to you,” he mutters, “so I thought…I should. Make nice.”

For half a second, Karen thinks about staying home from work like he wants. His statement makes her chest clench pleasantly–that he’s attempting to make amends for her sake is both endearing and warming. Her next thought is that he really does need sleep, and if she were to stay home they wouldn’t do much resting. She tampers down the intense wave of affection that comes from looking at his pink ears and embarrassed frown.

“Come here,” she says, beckoning. When Frank joins her in the middle of the room she leans up to kiss him, smiling. “Thank you for that. He means a lot to me, but so do you. And Foggy’s a great guy–once he gets past the whole…Punisher thing…he’ll warm up to you.”

Frank gives her an amused look. “You’re going to be late,” he reminds her.

“Ah, shit. Can you help me find my skirt?” She pauses, giving him a controlled stare that borders on amused. “One you _haven’t_ ripped yet, preferably.”

Frank lets out a laugh and turns to help her search.


	32. Nowhere To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompted: 92. "What do you want me to say?"

There are things Frank can tell Karen that he can’t tell anyone else. She takes everything in stride—with kind eyes and her fingers interlaced with his own. Sometimes he tells her about Maria and the kids, like when Frankie started potty training and thought the toilet at Lowe’s was a real one. Or sometimes he wakes from nightmares and she’s there, hands caging his face, gentle voice bringing him back from bloody carousels and the acrid taste of Afghan dirt. **  
**

It’s a warm August day when they’re sitting on her fire escape, a chilled bottle of wine between them. She’s in shorts that expose the long line of her longs and a tank top that’s driving him a little crazy if he thinks about it too long.

They may share a bed on occasion, but he’s never been able to touch her the way he wants. Not yet—but her languid stretch over the metal stairs is certainly tempting him. He looks out over the fire escape, peering down at the people walking below. It’s nearly sunset but that doesn’t stop the Saturday crowd. He thinks _I used to be one of those people_ and doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until Karen turns to look at him.

“What people?”

He clears his throat, takes a drink of his wine. He gestures at the multitude of people down below. “Them. Normal. Nowhere to be on a Saturday night.”

There’s a question on her face that makes him a touch uncomfortable. “Y’know, young and stupid. Only thing y’care about is drinking and f—sex.”

She lets out a laugh. “Yeah? Well…we’re drinking now.”

Something in her voice makes his mouth go dry. He takes another drink. They’ve been toeing this line for so long that the very idea of stepping over it makes his heart jump with apprehension. He searches for something to talk about, something safe. Instead what he comes up with is, “David asked me if I missed sex. In the bunker.”

Karen raises a brow delicately. Her beauty mark lifts over the rim of her glass. “How did that come up?”

“Ahh…we were drinking. He thought I had the hots for his wife.”

Karen looks at him and there’s a particular expression on her face, like she’s not entirely sure where the conversation is going, but she’s interested to see. Finally, she tilts her head and says, “Did you?”

“Sarah? Nah. It was uh, just some miscommunication.” Frank takes another drink, eyes drifting to the sidewalk again.

She laughs, soft. “No, do you miss sex?”

Frank’s gaze shoot up to meet hers, but there’s no trace of joking there. Some curiosity and amusement, but completely serious. He feels heat gather in his face. “Shit, Karen, what d’you want me to say?”

She shrugs, taking a drink. “I was just curious. You brought it up, you know.”

Frank huffs, tapping his finger anxiously. He clears his throat. “I miss…makin’ my lady feel good. But I was away so long overseas, I learned not to miss it.”

“What about now?”

He searches her face. The subtle bow of her lips, the dusting of pink over her cheeks. High cheekbones and long lashes. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice rough, “yeah, I miss it.”

Karen finishes her glass and smiles at him. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown. “You got anywhere to be on a Saturday night, Frank?” she asks innocently.

“No, ma’am,” he says slowly, anticipation creeping up his spine. He grins at her. “No, I don’t.”


	33. Come Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @evilsquirrel18 on tumblr made a text post that said, "I desperately want Karen to grab Frank by the armored vest and tell him to come back to her." and i'm a monster so i had to write my take.......

Karen is more than familiar with getting in over her head chasing down a story. Although, her path has never quite converged with the Punisher’s in this way before.

Yelling fills their ears; shots go off somewhere not nearly far enough to be comforting. Frank stares at her with a myriad of emotions—frustration, anger, and the smallest, tiniest hint of pride. He’d found her crouched behind a pile of boxes, tape recorder in one hand and gun in the other. _Karen_ , he’d said, exasperation and surprise warring on his face, _what the hell are you doin?_ His fingers are wrapped around her wrist urgently, other hand cradling her neck. She knows he’s itching to leave, to join to fight, but he stands rooted to the floor. With her. Karen is suddenly struck by every dumb, incessant, _wanting_ thought she’s ever had about him. Another gunshot ricochets in the distance but all she can think is ‘what if this is the time he doesn’t come back?’  

She grasps the thick, unyielding fabric of his vest and yanks him down to her level. The kiss is brief but loaded, a breath of lips on lips, and then she pushes him away.

His shocked look warms her to her toes.

“Come back to me.”

His gaze turns steely. He lets her go and steps away, nodding. Frank Castle turns into the Punisher before her very eyes, and if it weren’t for the flush fading from his cheeks, she would think he was lost forever.

She knows differently—he’ll come back to her. Maybe broken, bruised or bloody, but he’ll he back. She’s sure of it.

“Get out of here,” he says, his voice a roll of thunder that gives her a shiver. “Go on.”

He turns and disappears towards the sounds of violence.


	34. Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @frank-castle-loves-karen-page on tumblr requested: post punisher s1 prompt: frank is at a bar after a long day of work and when a pretty woman starts flirting with him, he just respectfully answers all of her questions and then she asks him something like: "are you taken or not into me at all? " and he surprises himself with how fast he replies with a "taken" and with how fast he had a gorgeous blue eyed blonde in his mind, and just like that he realizes he’s so fucked up because he’s in love with freaking karen page and how he just realized it on a bar when a woman was flirting with him instead of all the times he risked his life for her.

Frank knows, deep down, that women find him attractive. He doesn’t particularly know _why_ they do, with his big ears and crooked nose, but they do. He’s no stranger to flirting waitresses and furtive glances in the grocery store. Even with his practiced beanie-hoodie combo, women seem to gravitate towards him. It’s something he may have appreciated years ago–before he became a father, and then a soldier, and then a widower. Before the world turned its back on him.   
  
These days, he keeps to himself and tries his hardest to look off-putting.

So when he realizes the woman across the bar has been giving him bedroom eyes for the last several minutes, he keeps his gaze on his beer.

It’s been a hellish week to cap off a hellish month. Not that his life hasn’t been hellish for a good amount of time, but this is a new kind of hell. This is reintegrating into society. His bruises have faded, his stitches have nearly healed, and he’s stepped into the role of Pete Castiglione once again. He goes to work, stows his guns away, and practices being normal again. Boring, miserable, too much time to think _normal_. There was a time where he would have killed for normal; now it fits like a cheap suit.  

Frank runs a hand through his hair and makes a face at the length. Karen’s words echo in his mind– _I know you hate it, but I think the curls are charming._

_Charming_ , he scoffs inwardly, but a smile pulls  at his lips. It was  one word he would have never used to describe himself. When she used it he’d been too blindsided by the compliment to respond. Charming describes white knights in fairy tales, or slick-suited men trying to get their way. But Frank Castle: charming? Not so much. Although when Karen says it, it doesn’t sound as wrong. Most things she says to him sound right.

“Hey there,” comes a voice to his right, breaking his thought.

Frank glances over, and is face to face with the woman from across the bar. Up close, he sees the slight sparkle on her cheekbones and the smokey color on her eyelids. She’s holding a near-empty martini glass. Frank keeps his eyes level, despite the suggestively low neckline in his peripheral vision. She’s pretty, even beautiful by some standards. By the way she’s smiling, he can tell she hopes he’d think so, too.

“Hey,” he says, expression betraying nothing.

“Mind if I sit?” She asks, casually flipping her long dark hair falling over one shoulder.

Frank nods to the seat beside him and returns to his beer. He’s not afraid she’ll realize who he is; it’s been three months since Frank Castle died and Pete Castiglione’s beard is an exceptionally good disguise. Despite that, tension crawls up his spine and his senses sharpen; searching for danger, for the trap. It’s not very often he makes conversation with strangers beyond exchanges at checkout counters and coffee shops. In Josie’s bar, his usual hangout, folks mind their business. This bar, down the street from his place, is a little more upscale. The clientele are a little more refined, and the beer a little less watered down. He should have prepared for a more determined class of women, too.

“Name’s Jane,” she presses when he remains silent. “Want to buy me a drink?”

He thinks about telling her no, just for a moment. He almost does. There’s no point in leading on a woman like her, who is sure to strike up a long conversation that would dead-end, because it would all be based on half-truths and secrets. When he looks over to dismiss her, there’s a sharpness in her eyes – a little bit of fire that reminds him, painfully, of Karen. He finds himself nodding before he can help it.

When a fresh martini is deposited before her, Jane crosses her legs and leans closer. “So what’s your name, handsome?”

Frank takes a sip of his beer, looks forward. “Pete.”

“You here alone, Pete?” She asks, amused.

_Tryin’ to be_ , he thinks, sliding his eyes back to her. “Yep.”

Her delicate nails, sharpened and polished deep scarlet, tap against the bar. She surveys him, head tilted. “So what’s the deal? You’ve been turning women away all night–you not interested? Taken?”

Unbidden, his mind defines what taken means: blue eyes. Blond hair. A beauty mark lifting over a wide, happy smile.

“Taken.”

The word escapes his mouth faster than he can catch it. There’s a brief pause as his chest gets a little tighter, his head feels a little lighter. The word ricochetes in his skull– **_taken_** – as he tries to regain control over his expression. He can feel the surprise on his face. Jane looks at him with open curiosity.

“Looks like you just figured that out,” she huffs. “Want to talk about it with a stranger?”

“I gotta go,” he mutters, throwing some cash on the bar. He shrugs on his jacket and finishes off his beer, trying to ignore the panic settling like a stone in his gut.

“Yikes,” she says. Her tone is pitying. “Good luck. Sounds like you need to have a conversation with someone.”

Frank grunts as an answer and  strides to the door. Outside, he takes three deep breaths. The air is freezing. It’s not quite snowing yet, but he can smell the clean, fresh scent of it on the horizon. He starts down the sidewalk and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

**Taken**.

Frank frowns, turning the lapels of his coat against the chill. He’s known, almost since the moment he met her, that Karen Page was important. First, she was important in remembering his family. Then, she was important to his trial. But somewhere along the line, she became important to _him_. She became his ally, his fiery support system, his accomplice. She became family. Frank never thought he would have anyone to call family again; not after losing Maria and the kids.  

He thinks back to the first time he risked himself for her. Was it with the Blacksmith? He remembers realizing she was trapped with the very same person who orchestrated his family’s deaths. He remembers the surge of fury–and protectiveness–that followed. The plan to rescue her and get rid of Schoonover once and for all nearly made him ill; when his truck crashed into her car and he saw the blood dripping down her temple, he was shocked by the regret that followed. It had almost been enough for him to abandon the plan altogether.

No, he realizes, it was in her apartment. When he had walked through the door and found himself staring in admiration down the barrel of her .305. When he heard the gunfire and covered her body with his own. The instincts to protect and save were strong. Her trembling body under his own was a reminder that there was still _good_ in him–still something worth fighting for.

Frank turns a corner, hardly registers where his feet are taking him. He pictures another achingly cold night, months ago. Standing high above the sidewalk, rifle in hand, coat billowing in the wind. He remembers turning to leave and catching sight of the crowd gathering below as Red bowed over a woman not far away. Frank looked down and saw Karen Page, eyes wide and trained directly on him. Her lips had formed his name–angry and terrified and amazed all at once.

He thinks about the day he re-entered into her life, despite his reluctance to get her involved. His desperation for answers. He remembers the look on her face when she accepted his flowers. The excitement, the pure joy… the embarrassment as she pushed her hair back behind her ears. He also remembers the moment her expression had fallen, just enough for him to catch it, when she realized it hadn’t been a gift but a half-assed method of communication. What he couldn’t tell her then (because he was too chicken shit, he admits) that giving her his burner phone number put her in more danger than he could stomach.

Frank recognizes that there’s never been a moment where they could just be. He’s been on the move or in hiding for so long. He’s been cataloging each one of her smiles; stowing them away to analyze later. There’s no time for love, or family, or friendship, on the battlefield that had become his life. He remembers, for the hundredth time, lying beside her as Lewis’ remains coated the walls of the hotel refrigerator. The hot smell of blood and smoke in the air. The sound of her soft gasp over the buzzing in his ears. Her hand coming to rest on his chest, searching for him even as she fought for consciousness.

Frank thinks of her in that fucking elevator, her hands grasping his arms. Her forehead pressed to his, her lips a breath and a nod away. That moment of frozen time where he had thought things he had no right to think. He’d been so, so tired. And then her hand, pushing him away. Telling him, go. Go on.

Then, the terror of leaving her to clean up his mess. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner? Why had it taken a stranger in a bar for him to realize he was taken by Karen? He’d taken bullets for her, he’d put his life and his anonymity on the line for her.

Frank feels something cold touch his nose. He looks up. It’s snowing and he’s standing in front of Karen’s apartment building.

He sighs and turns to leave; even with these feelings he has for her (because that’s what this is, right?) he’s got no business putting his shit on her. She should have a normal life. She should meet someone that’s not living under a fake name. Someone with a lot less blood on their hands. He glances up towards her window and stops short when he sees it.

Fresh white roses in the window. The light is on.

He rings the buzzer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> go follow some new people! aka @frank-castle-loves-karen-page and my beta reader bree @frankcastlestanktop (and me while you're at it ;) @onebatch2batch)


	35. Coffee Snob

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @howshescribbles (aka @frankcastlestanktop on tumblr) prompted: How about: Frank isn’t just a caffeine junkie, he’s a coffee aficionado. Karen finds a hole-in-the-wall cafe roasting their own beans and has to show him.

It starts with little, innocuous comments. They happen frequently in diners, late at night (or early in the morning, depending on how you look at it). Coffee is deposited before them by a tired waitress and Frank scrunches his nose in a way that brings a smile to her lips. He’ll take a sip and grimace. 

_Coffee’s terrible_ , he’ll say. He’ll drink three cups before their food arrives.

When he starts staying the night at her place regularly, he claims he has more free time, and that it doesn’t bother him to do the grocery shopping. She realizes he’s stocking her fridge with enough food to feed a small army—but more importantly, he buys an obscure coffee brand that she’s never heard of. It’s not terrible, and in fact the flavor is strong and robust. Karen realizes she’s never really put stock into the taste of her coffee, as long as it has enough caffeine to get her through the day. 

It’s when Karen looks up the brand online and realizes how much he spends on it, that she realizes Frank Castle is a coffee snob. When she tells him as much, he rolls his eyes and doesn’t say anything to refute her claim. That’s enough of an answer for her. 

One night on the way home from work, Karen sees it. It’s freezing outside and she refuses to spend the money on a cab, so she walks. On the way to her apartment, nestled in between a record shop and a laundromat, she finds it. The smell of fresh coffee alone is enough to make her mouth water. It’s the smallest coffee shop she’s ever seen, littered with house plants and cramped tables. When Karen opens the door she’s immediately greeted with a homey, warm feeling. 

The barista is no different. She smiles widely at Karen and in between ordering two coffees and watching her brew them, Karen learns three things:

  1. It’s a family-owned coffee shop, and it’s only been open a couple of weeks. 
  2. They loving (yes, the barista/owner actually said _lovingly_ ) roast their own beans. 
  3. Frank is going to absolutely  _adore_ this place. 



Karen tips generously and hurries home. When she presents Frank with the coffee, her gives her a smile that warms her down to the toes. She waits and watches as he takes the first sip of the coffee. Some small part of her wants him to love it, wants him to be impressed by her ability to find amazing, hole-in-the-wall coffee shops. 

He takes a drink slowly, savoring it, making her wait. When he turns to her, there’s a look of pure glee on his face. She savors it almost more than the drink itself. 

“Good find, baby,” he tells her, kissing her forehead. “Good find.”


	36. Come To Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another little unprompted drabble :~)

Even in sleep, Frank Castle doesn’t relax. 

Karen’s hands hover over the keys of her computer. For the last several minutes, the apartment has been quiet save for Frank’s soft breathing and the muted voices from the television. She’s halfway through her article, but the temptation to join Frank pulls at her, just as unrest pulls his lips into a deep frown. 

She traces her eyes over the furrow in his brow. She thinks he meant to stay up with her, but he’s been working long hours. Back-breaking construction that brings him to her with dust between his fingers and heaviness in his boots. The peace of the apartment must have lulled him to sleep before he could fight it. Now, he lays with his arms crossed, and a perturbed expression on his face. 

Karen closes her computer and sets it on the coffee table gently. When she looks up, Frank is watching her. 

“Hey,” he rumbles, rubbing his face. “Finished?”

“I’ll finish in the morning,” she murmurs. “Come to bed with me.”

It doesn’t take much convincing, and by the time they’re in bed he’s already half asleep. One night, weeks ago, he’d told her that her apartment is the only place he truly relaxes. The only place he can think to rest his head without worry. The words had warmed her from head to toe. 

Now, his arm circles around her loosely as he drifts back into sleep. Karen tucks herself against his chest, savoring the quiet sigh he releases. Savoring the heat of his body pressed to hers. 

“Okay?” he mutters, a breath against the top of her head.  

She doesn’t answer, doesn’t have to; Karen presses her palm against his chest and feels the steady beat of his heart on her skin. His breathing evens out once more and she listens to the quiet symphony it produces alongside the traffic outside.

It’s not long before she’s tumbling into sleep herself, lulled by his warm embrace and the dark edges of the room. Just before she lets herself go, Karen looks up to peek at his expression in the moonlight. 

She’s pleased to find his brow smooth and lips lifted into a soft smile. Karen sleeps. 


	37. Man Bun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This morning I saw a picture of some model with a man bun…and then I started thinking about Frank in a man bun…and then this happened. I’m not sorry.

She comes home to the delightful, drool-inducing smell of Frank Castle in her kitchen.

As soon as Karen steps through the threshold of her apartment, the scent of heady italian aromas fill her nose. It’s familiar, a dish she’s sure he’s made before, and something she’s sure to love. Frank’s affinity for cooking had surprised her at first. If she’s being honest, a lot of things about him surprised her at first. These days, coming home to him is less of a shock and more of a pleasant warmth that fills her head to toe.

“Hey,” comes his voice from around the corner.

Karen drops her bag by her shoes, then peeks into the kitchen. Frank is standing at the epicenter of everything; dishes are littered around, pots simmering on the stove, wine glasses off to the side. He’s cutting vegetables with even, clean strokes. None of the chaos in her kitchen is unfamiliar; Frank has the ability to turn a simple meal into hours of cathartic mess-making.

What is unfamiliar–what makes her stop short–is the thick pile of loose curls piled atop his head. Karen stares long enough for him to look up from his task.

“What?” he asks, raising a brow like he hasn’t just short-circuited her libido.

“Since when do you participate in the man bun?” Karen asks, aiming for casual. She falls disastrously short.

Frank smirks. “Like it, huh?”

“I didn’t say that.” Karen pauses, scrambling for an excuse. “I just thought we established it was for hipsters.”

“Mhm,” he hums, entirely unconvinced. “It was getting in the way; need a trim.”

Frank turns back to his cutting board and Karen takes a seat at the island, watching him. His hands are steady and sure as he chops the lettuce, tomatoes, peppers. The same methodical approach he takes to all things, from shaving to cleaning his guns. Karen watches and reflects on the surrealism of their situation. She can’t help it; coming home and having Frank Castle standing in her kitchen, dressed in his grey sweats that she secretly loves, and the man-bun she not-so-secretly loves. It’s even more surreal knowing that when she thinks home, she doesn’t picture her tiny kitchen, or overstocked bookshelf, or lilac sheets. She pictures Frank’s shoulders framing the bathroom doorway, his boots by the door, the ease with which he navigates her kitchen.

Karen thinks back to that night in the hospital. She remembers the way her heart had galloped when she caught the first glance of Frank’s silhouette. The terror of hearing a gunshot explode next to her ear. Her fear that night had driven her for answers–and directly into Frank’s path. Into his life. Again, she thinks the word _home_ and feels a surge of warmth, protectiveness, affection–love.

Home.

Karen is snapped out of her thoughts when a glass of wine appears at her elbow. Frank’s lips meet her temple.

“You changin’ before dinner?” he queries.

Karen smiles up at him. There’s a feeling settling low in her gut; a feeling of being overwhelmed, but in a way that’s not entirely unwelcome. A tendril of hair falls into his eyes and she tucks it into his (her?) hair tie carefully. “Nope. After dinner, I’m going to take these off–and I’m not planning on putting anything back on.”

Frank’s eyes darken to that intense, molton brown that tells her she’s struck a chord. His fingers trail up her arm and bury in the hair at the base of her neck. “Keep lookin’ at me like that and we won’t make it through dinner.”

The deep, mischievous timbre of his voice gives her shivers. Before she can lean forward and act on the spark behind his gaze, he steps out of reach. His smile promises dessert will be worth the wait.

After all, he was.

 


	38. Ruth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompted: "parents! kastle i'm dying for frank being all cute with a baby and karen melting at the sight of their family"

Karen wakes up totally and completely alone. 

For the first time in a long time, silence greets her ears. Karen lays and basks in the sunlight filtering through the window. She lets the peace of early morning wash over her. It’s a Sunday; she’s more than content to laze about all day, recuperating from her week in the quiet. She’s just creeping back into sleep when her eyes snap open. 

She’s a mom. Peace is a bad thing. 

Karen is out of bed without a moment’s delay. The taste in her mouth turns sour with panic, and her heart thuds painfully. Adrenaline pumps through her as she searches the baby’s room, worry growing when she finds it empty. She sprints into the next room and stops short at the sight that greets her. 

Frank is lying prone on the couch, and cradled in his arms is their baby girl. Her dark curls are mussed against her head, her cheek pressed to the broad expanse of Frank’s chest. They’re both asleep, the sunlight slanting over them slowly. Karen stares and stares until the anxiety thrumming through her veins is replaced with something warm, something that makes her lightheaded with happiness. 

This is her family. Once, years ago, she didn’t think it was attainable. That she had no right to have this kind of joy. That she was unworthy to have a normal life, with the things she’s done. 

Looking at Frank and their daughter, she knows the opposite. 

Carefully as possible, Karen pads over to them and puts a hand, feather light, on Ruth’s hair. She stirs just long enough to sigh, but Frank wakes nonetheless. He peers up at Karen blearily, smile working its way onto his lips. 

“Hey,” he whispers, reaching up and taking her hand. “She was cryin’, didn’t want to wake ya.”

“Can I get in on this?” She whispers back, gesturing. Frank huffs, carefully moving just enough for Karen to squeeze next to him. She’s endlessly grateful that they decided on a deep couch when furnishing the house. When Karen is situated with Frank’s arm around her shoulders, turns her head to peer at Ruth’s face. The emotion wells up in her, and she blinks hard to stay her tears. It happens a lot lately, especially as her maternity leave comes to an end. 

Frank drops a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, hearing her sniffle. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

That’s all it takes. Karen nestles against his side and takes one of Ruth’s tiny fists in her own gently--and then she sleeps. 

  
  



	39. Page-Castiglione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: Don't know if you're still taking quick prompts ― if you're not, just disregard this ― and I'm horrible at prompts, but postpostpost canon (like, a decade down the line maybe) Kastle and a quickie wedding in Vermont with some random small-town justice of the peace officiating and their rescue dogs as a witnesses?

They stand side by side. **  
**

It’s a warm August day. The sky is freckled with the puffiest, whitest clouds Karen has ever seen. The grass is green and the sunlight warms the top of her head. The cemetery is empty save for them and the two dogs sniffing around their feet curiously. Frank runs a hand up her spine reassuringly.

“You sure you don’t wanna invite your parents?” he murmurs, hesitant to break the silence.

Karen nods. “It’s better this way. When they found out who you were…well, I’m surprised at how well they took it. I don’t want to push it.”

Frank tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to regret this,” he says softly.

Karen gives him a small smile. She takes his hand and holds tight. “The only thing I regret is that Kevin can’t be here. Thanks for coming with me–I think he would have liked you.”

Frank pulls her close, turning his gaze to the gravestone before him. The name _Kevin Page_ looks fresh, as if it hasn’t been nearly two decades since it was carved. He watches as the dogs sniff at the marble. “Would’ve liked to meet him.”

They stand there for a few more quiet moments, and then Karen reaches out and brushes her fingers over the stone. She nods, resolute, and turns to grin at Frank. There’s a lightness in her eyes that was missing before.

“Let’s do this.”

–

The ceremony is small–in fact, there’s not much of a ceremony at all.

Karen and Frank (Pete Castiglione, rather) bend, one after the other, to sign their names on the dotted line. The courthouse is bustling outside their room. The dogs whine curiously, confused by the unfamiliar building. David Lieberman holds their leashes in one hand, grinning as he signs at the witness line.

It’s faster than Karen expected, and before she knows it, they’re standing outside the courthouse. David claps Frank on the back, gives Karen a hug, and then disappears to leave them alone.

Frank turns as soon as he’s gone, giving her a small smile. “Feel any different?”

Karen tilts her head, considering. She fiddles with her ring. “Not really. Do you?”

“Nah.” Frank whistles to gather the dog’s attention. “Loved you yesterday, love you today. Now I just got a piece of paper to show it.”

As they step down the courthouse stares, Karen lets out a sudden groan. “I just realized…Karen Page-Castiglione is _such_ a long signature.”

Frank lets out a laugh. “You’re the one that wanted to hyphenate. I offered to become a Page.”

She makes a face. “Pete Page? _Frank_ Page? There’s no way I would’ve let that happen. Now come on, husband. I’m starved.”

He grins. “You got it, wife.”


	40. Lazy Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: lazy day Kastle please! preferably with lots of cuddling and lazy Frank for once

It’s hard for Frank Castle to relax, even six months into After. Most days he stills looks over his shoulder, still triple-checks the window locks, still cleans his (diminished) stock of guns. Karen knows this–and so she decides that this one day, there will be _only_ relaxing.

“What are we gonna do?” Frank asks, rolling his head to look at her. His brows are furrowed in confusion, and Karen holds back a laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“Do we…clean? Go for a walk?”

She stares at him incredulously. “You’re asking me if we’re going for a walk on our lazy day?”

She knows he’s embarrassed by the dusting of pink that spreads over his chest, up across his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. Karen remembers the absolute joy she’d felt when she found out Frank was a full-body blusher. That joy hasn’t abated–in fact, it makes the entire situation much more hilarious. He huffs.

“What do you do? Just lay around?”

“Yeah.” Karen looks at him, grinning. “Yeah, that’s it. We eat food that’s terrible for us, watch horrible reality television, and there’s only one rule: we don’t wear anything that doesn’t have elastic.”

Frank drops his head back, snorting. “Can’t remember the last time I didn’t change out of pajamas.”

“And that, Frank, is why we’re doing it.”

–

Mid-afternoon finds them on the couch. Karen stabs a piece of Orange Chicken and pops it into her mouth, the sound of some baking show on in the background. Frank has unabashedly embraced the idea of their lazy day–his socked feet are propped on the coffee table, fried rice balanced on his lap, shoulder pressed warmly against hers.

“I could bake better than that,” he mutters, pointing at the tv with the prongs of his fork.

“I think that’s the point,” Karen says slowly, squinting at the disaster of a cake on the screen. “I think it’s a baking show about people who can’t bake.”

He turns to give her a blank look. “…and they win money?”

“Yep. Don’t question it, just enjoy the baking disasters.”

Frank scoffs, but doesn’t ask to change the channel.

–

Karen knows Frank is starting to get bored by the way his hand rubs up and down her leg. She’s sprawled across the couch, feet in his lap, head cushioned on her arms. For the last hour or so, the apartment has been quiet. Her book is just starting to get intense when she realizes Frank is getting handsy.

“Got a question,” he says into the silence. His hand creeps higher. “What else is allowed on lazy days?”

Karen turns onto her back and raises a brow. “As long as it doesn’t break the one rule…”

Frank smirks, tossing his book onto the coffee table. He folds over her and kisses her jaw softly. “So this…is allowed?”

Karen hums, carding her fingers through his hair. “It’s allowed.”

His lips dip lower, into the ticklish spot behind her ear. Lower still when she laughs, kissing the meager cleavage poking out of her tank top. “And this?”

Karen watches his descent, breath catching. He’s got that mischievous, playful look in his eyes that she loves. “Yep.”

Frank hums, pretending to think. He pulls up the edge of her shirt, kissing at her hipbone softly. His fingers toy with the elastic of her shorts. “And this, this too?”

“You’re teasing,” Karen groans, dropping her head down.

“Hey, this is your game,” Frank chuckles, “I’m just makin’ sure I got the rules right.”

Karen barely has time to laugh before he’s got her shorts off. He places another kiss on the inside of her thigh, then turns and licks one long line up her slit. Karen bucks in surprise, gasping somewhere above him. Frank grins, placing an arm over her hips and dipping back down in earnest. Her cries grow as her pushes a finger into her, curling it against the spot he knows she likes.

Karen’s fingers bury in his hair desperately. “Frank–”

He adds a second finger, feels her tremble beneath him as he continues his ministrations. When she finally breaks apart, her heels dig into his back and she presses her face to the back of the couch. Frank rides it out until she’s yanking at his hair, gasping. Frank props himself up and grins at her, smug.

Karen looks at him, past her heaving chest. She narrows her eyes. “That wasn’t exactly lazy,” she says.

Frank laughs. “Maybe. Better than shitty baking shows, though.”

–

That night, Frank only checks the locks twice, and Karen thinks, _progress_.


	41. Memorized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompted: they’ve been making out a few times and every time they get closer and closer but Karen is always the one who stops because she thinks frank is not ready and one day, just as Karen is going to stop before it’s too much, Frank says something like “I’ve never asked you to stop. Not once.” And then they finally do what they have wanted to do for a long time

By now, Frank has memorized Karen’s lips.

He’s memorized the way they curve in a sigh when she’s frustrated; how they lift into a smile when he cracks a joke she’s not expecting; how they purse when something annoys her, but she’s too polite to say so. How they taste when he steals the breath from her. He’s also memorized her body language. They subtle tilt of her head when she’s confused; the tensing of shoulders when she’s in the mood to argue; the sudden absence of movement when she regrets doing something.

Usually the taste of her lips and the regret go hand in hand.

“I should go clean up from dinner,” Karen murmurs, hand immobile on his shoulder. They’re tangled on the couch, lips glistening, chests heaving. Frank is painfully, painfully aware of how much he wants to continue kissing her. He lets his grip go slack.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, unable to keep the confusion from his voice. “Am I–doing something wrong?”

Karen turns to him, surprised. She does that soft, half-laugh half-sigh that happens when she’s taken aback. “What?”

“You always…” Frank detaches, moves half a couch cushion away. The last thing he wants is to pull back, stop holding her, but anxiousness eats at him. Has she been entertaining him this entire time? Has she grown tired of babysitting the once-vigilante, and now she’s ready for some good guy with a boring, normal job? Has he been assuming that they’re more than they are? “…pull back.”

“Frank,” Karen breathes. She slides her grip from his shoulder to his hand and holds tight. “Frank, _no_.”

“Then what?” He tries to keep the hurt from his voice, barely succeeds.

Her eyes alight on him with a careful cocktail of emotions. She hesitates, like she’s unsure of how to voice her thoughts. “Frank, you lost everything.”

Her answer takes him by surprise, and it temporarily chases away the hurt and replaces it with something sharper. He looks away, furrowing his brows. Karen’s hand comes up, turning him back towards her carefully.

“I’m not going to be the one to push you into something you’re not ready for,” she says, searching his face. “Okay? I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Ah. Frank feels the tension leave him in one long exhale. He brings Karen towards him and presses a kiss to the crown of her head, relief coursing through him. “Shit, Karen–that’s why you were holdin’ back?”

She pulls back just enough to give him a nervous smile. “I felt like it was the right thing to do. This isn’t exactly a normal situation, you know.”

Frank brushes his thumb over her cheekbone lightly. There’s a familiar pull in his gut, an ache in his chest he gets when he looks at her. It’s the same feeling he had that pushed him to find her that day in the hotel. “Karen,” he says, voice low, “I’ve never asked you to stop. Not once.”

Karen feels her smile grow; she leans forward and kisses him, soft.

“Then we better not stop, hm?”


	42. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING INFINITY WAR SPOILERS IN THIS CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @frankcastiglione on tumblr tricked me into this. TRICKED ME I SAY. 
> 
> WARNING HUGE INFINITY WAR SPOILERS AHEAD (yes you read that right)

Once, Karen had asked him, “why don’t you help?”

Frank remembered it clearly. He was making dinner, and she was sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the television. A glance at the screen told him that Tony Stark’s face was plastered over the news for what felt like the millionth time in the last half-decade. Something to do with aliens and hoodoo voodoo, none of which he cared to know about. 

Frank had turned back to the stove, huffing. “I’m one man, Karen,” he’d said, “aliens are above my pay grade.” 

“Yeah,” Karen had laughed, “but how cool would it be to say you took down aliens?”

He had only rolled his eyes and told her to grab a plate. 

—

Once, Curtis had asked him, “what is it going to take to make you happy?”

Frank heard the words leave his mouth before he could think about it. “Happy is a kick in the balls waiting to happen.”

Now, he looks at Karen with her blond hair spilling over her pillow. It’s still early morning, minutes before her work alarm is set to go off. In sleep, she’s reached out for him, knuckles brushing against his arm. Her chest rises and falls with her even breathing, and Frank watches with the awe that always accompanies waking before her. He knows that it’s well past the time he should be up—there’s coffee to be made, and he needs to get ready for work—but the soft flush on her cheeks and her peaceful expression keeps him rooted in place. 

Frank touches her cheek with gentle fingers and thinks, _when’s the kick coming?_

—

It comes when he least expects it. 

They’re in the park. It’s a warm autumn day, and Max is running around with a couple dogs excitedly.  Frank feels the warmth of Karen’s shoulder pressed against him, his arm around her. She’s laughing, teasing him about how long his hair has gotten. Frank is blissfully happy, in a way he thought he’d never feel again. Until—

The dogs suddenly stop short. 

There’s a couple yips, and then they take off like a bat out of hell. Frank frowns, whistling for Max. The dog’s ears are pressed back and he’s standing stock still. Karen’s hand comes up to touch Frank’s chest. 

He looks over, and she’s got her eyebrows furrowed, confused. 

“Frank, I don’t—…I think something’s wrong,” she says, barely a whisper. 

He turns fully towards her, cupping her shoulder. “What is it?” 

Karen turns to look at him suddenly, eyes wide. She grasps his shirt, panic taking hold of her. “Frank, I—…”

Frank feels her shoulder give under his hand, and realizes that she’s literally turning to dust in his under his palm. His eyes widen in horror and he reaches for her face, her waist, anything that’s not blowing away with the wind. “Karen, what—no, _wait_ —!” 

She’s gone before he can get the words out. Frank stares at where she was, hears Max whining from somewhere far off. There are screams in the distance, but he can’t bring himself to look away. She can’t be gone. This is—this is unnatural, this is not real, there’s dust on his pants, on the bench and he grabs at it fruitlessly. Panic starts to take hold of him, breaths coming in shorter until he feels like he’s suffocating. He stares and stares and stares, but she doesn’t come back. 

Frank Castle remembers her eyes, terrified and shining with fear, and feels the familiar pain of losing someone. Sharp as a knife. Blunt as a bullet to the brain. A shudder rips through him, and he palms at the dust with tears gathering in his eyes. His knees hit the dirt desperately. 

Amongst the screams, he hears himself say, with the defeat of someone who has lost everything there is to lose, 

“Karen?” 


	43. Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Forgot to post from tumblr) Literally woke up in the middle of the night and bust this prompt out like a crazy person. Enjoy xo

The first time she says it is by accident. Frank is on his way out the door, weekly dinner cut short. He checks his gun(s), pulls on his boots, and throws on his coat. In the same gesture he tosses her an apologetic look.

“Karen, I’m sorry. We’ve been lookin’ for this guy for weeks—“

Karen has never hated David Lieberman more at that moment for his phone call. For interrupting a perfectly good evening. For taking away the one normal night Frank has. But she slaps on a smile and opens the door, shaking her head.

“It’s fine, I should work on my article anyway.”

“Rain check on the food? Smells great,” he says, looking forlornly at the oven timer.

Karen laughs. “Rain check it is.”

Frank nods and glances at his beeping phone. “Shit, he’s on the move, I gotta—“

“Okay, yeah—“

“I’ll call you—“

“It’s fine—“

“Bye—“

“Be safe, I love y—“

Karen stops short, eyes widening. Frank turns back to her slowly, rakes his gaze over her for what seems like hours. His entire body is coiled, as if ready to jump out the door—or straight at her. Karen presses her fingers to her lips, makes a nervous noise that could possibly be a laugh, or maybe a sob.

“Frank—“

He’s on her in the next moment, large hands pulling her in, mouth hot on her own. Karen’s reaction time is slower—slower than she can register what’s happening—because he’s off her before she can properly kiss back. She blinks, dazed.

Frank presses his forehead to hers, eyes glittering in the dim hallway light. “We’re talkin’ about this later,” he rasps. “But I gotta go. Okay? Don’t wait up.”

Karen watches him go, touches her lips and stands there in the doorway far too long after he’s gone. The oven timer snaps her out of it, it’s buzz shrill in the silence. She goes to pull out the roast, adrenaline pumping through her. Every inch of her skin is practically vibrating, each of her senses filled with Frank’s smell, Frank’s warm touch, Frank’s intense stare. She hadn’t meant to tell him, to put her feelings out in the open, but… now that it’s happened…she can’t be too upset. Not with his reaction like that. Karen wraps a plate for him and puts it in the fridge.

She waits up.


	44. Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [casually sneaks an angsty little ficlet that wormed it’s way into my brain]

Karen, above all else, loves to take care of Frank Castle.

When they lay in bed, she will pillow his head on her shoulder and run gentle hands over the muscles of his chest.  He’s a comforting weight nestled between her legs. She knows Frank loves this—being held, being shown affection, the intimacy of lying together this way. She can feel it in the way his fingers dance along the soft skin of her knee, in his quiet breathing and lethargic movements. Soft curls tickle her sternum and heat radiates from him like a furnace.

In bed Karen will talk to him, words settling around his shoulders like a blanket. She talks about her day, about moments from her childhood she’s long since pushed away. Talking to Frank gives her a sense of comfort; she knows he listens, knows he takes each word and nestles it close to his heart. Even without seeing his expression, she can picture the dip  between his brows and the small upwards tilt of his lips. The expression that means he’s taking in every word like gospel. It’s part of what she loves about him.

The wide expanse of his shoulders and stomach is peppered with scars, and she caresses each one carefully, reverently, as she speaks. Sometimes he’ll tell her where they come from; sometimes, on the good days, she makes it a game to guess.

On the bad days, his skin prickles with anxiety and fear. He shifts and moves as if itching to leave.

“Why do you love me?” He murmurs one particularly hard day, still in her lap. He’s tense, agitated, distressed. Each brush of her fingers has him shuddering—this is a bad day. She knows he’s moments away from shutting down, being lost to her for the rest of the evening. It happens that way sometimes.

At his question Karen pauses her ministrations, then brushes her fingers through his hair gently. “I love you for your hair,” she says, starting slow. She massages the skin of his scalp, feels the scar above his right ear that gives her a chill to think about. “I love you for your nose,” and another touch, fingers skimming the bridge between his eyes, “I love you for your heart,” she murmurs, pressing her palm to his chest. His pulse thuds against it, and she presses her chin to the top of his head.

Frank makes a small noise, as if he’s about to argue. Karen runs her hands down his arms, tapping each scar as she goes. Before he can speak, she continues. “I love you for your stubbornness, and your empathy, and your scary-intense love for dogs.”

He huffs, but relaxes slightly in her arms. Incentivized, she hurries on. “I love you because even when it’s hard, and even when everyone else would give up, you don’t.”

Frank hums, reaching up to twirl a lock of her hair between his fingers. “Don’t know how to give up,” he mumbles, embarrassed. She can tell this wasn’t the answer he expected. Beneath his curls, the curve of his ears pink.

“And I love…that you’re a hero to this city.”

Frank stills. Karen hears the sharp intake of breath that tells her he’s surprised.

“I’m no hero, Karen,” he says, rough.

“Aren’t you?” Karen leans down, kissing the tense plane of his shoulder. “You save the city that needs saved. The people that need saved. Isn’t that a hero?”

His body twitches, as if every muscle is fighting her words. His hand fists in the blankets. “I can’t—I’m not—I can’t be that, Kare.”

The pain in his voice breaks her. She turns his chin, presses another kiss to his temple. “It’s not a death sentence, Frank. It’s just a fact. Let it be.”

It takes some time, but soon enough he has relaxed against her once more. Frank cups her hands in his own, bringing them to his lips. The room is shrouded in the oncoming night, but the silence is calming. His breath on her knuckles is warm.

“You see too much good in me,” he says, the rumble of his chest echoing in her own.

Karen smiles.

“No,” she tells him softly, “I see what you won’t.”

 _And_ , she thinks, _I always will._  


	45. Ticks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompted: When One Person’s Face Is Scrunched Up, And The Other One Kisses Their Lips/Nose/Forehead - with kastle?

Frank Castle knows he has certain ticks–but Karen has hers, too. When she’s frustrated, she stares off into the distance and mutters under her breath. When she’s flustered she’ll tuck her hair behind her right ear; when happy behind her left; when anxious, behind both. If they’re running late she’ll tap her foot in a rhythm only she can hear. When she’s cooking, she hums little pop songs Frank isn’t familiar with. At night, she turns three times before finally getting comfortable. 

And when she’s deep in thought, she scrunches up her face. It’s comical to watch, really. Frank will lose handfuls of minutes to watching the delicate curve of her upper lip purse, or the pocket between her brows deepen, or the way her nose wrinkles as she thinks through her next phrase. More often than not it happens in front of her computer, the blue of her screen illuminating the dips and hills of her expression. 

It’s late on a Tuesday when Frank can’t help himself. He’s long since lost interest in the book in his lap, and has been watching Karen’s pondering, scrunched face for some time now. It’s when she finally tucks her hair (right ear) and lifts her eyes in a mixture of distant staring and nose scrunching that he stands and walks over. 

He places a finger under her chin and lifts her head just enough to kiss her temple, and then at her wide smile, dips lower to brush his lips over hers. 

“What’s that for?” she hums, hand on his arm. 

“You’re just cute,” Frank tells her. “And I’d like to take you to bed.”

Karen huffs, but–much to his pleasure–shuts her laptop. “And what make you think I’ll let you tear from from my work?”

Frank braces himself on the arms of her chair, nuzzling at her nose with his own. Her eyelashes flutter, and she does the quiet little sigh that he knows means she’s not going to tell him no. “You already closed your computer,” he reminds her on a chuckle. 

She rolls her eyes, but tilts her head back to look at him devilishly. “Nothing escapes you, Castle. Now take me to bed.”


	46. Private

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 17\. Needing to kiss to hide from the bad guys prompted by taylor (@frankcastiglione on tumblr!)

There are certain moments in Karen’s life where a little voice in the back of her head tells her, _you’ve gone too far this time, Karen_. 

Tonight, that voice happens to be Frank. He lowers the knife in his hand and gives her a bewildered stare that quickly morphs into anger. 

“God damn it, Karen,” he whispers harshly, “god damn it.”

Karen straightens from her crouch over a filing cabinet, glaring at him. As happy as she is to see him alive and well (considering it’s been a week since she’s heard from him), now is not the time. She’s looking for a file–a very specific file–and he’s wasting precious time. 

“Watch the door,” she tells him crisply, and then turns back to her search. 

After a moment, she realizes Frank is staring at her, dumbfounded. Karen turns to raise her brows at him. 

“No fuckin’ way, Karen. Get the hell out of here, you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you.” She frowns at him. “But I’m not leaving until I have this file.”

Frank taps his finger, glances at the door, back at her determined expression, and then turns and stalks off. “Hurry up,” he grouses. 

Karen grins, turning back to the cabinet. In minutes she has pictures of the file on her phone, has tucked it away, and Frank guides her out the door. Music pulses from below their feet, and Karen grimaces at the tacky decor on the walls. 

“It’s like a 70′s porn director decorated this place,” she whispers, but Frank only gives her a flat stare that says _now is not the time_. She’s just about to retort when she hears it: two voices around the corner. Voices that will soon discover she and Frank are one floor above where the rave is happening, and definitely up to No Good. 

Panic envelops her brain as she sees Frank tense up, hand straying for his gun. The last thing she wants is to be caught in the crossfire, not when there’s a plan forming in her mind on how to get out peacefully.

“No, wait Frank–here, kiss me.”

His stare turns back to hers, but this time its less angry and more _terrified_. “What?” he chokes, but Karen doesn’t have time to explain (or ponder over his expression). She pushes him against the wall and tilts her head to capture her lips with his. Frank makes a small noise in her mouth, and Karen presses her front to his, ripping his shirt from his belt and doing her best to make him look as disheveled as possible. She’s eternally grateful she dressed for the part tonight–her heels make her eye level with Frank, and his hands come to rest on her waist hesitantly. It seems like hours before he finally kisses back, hand burying in her hair and chest heaving against hers. 

From where she’s standing, she can barely see the two men round the corner, but she hears them. 

“Hey, what the–you two aren’t allowed up here!”

Pulling away from Frank is the hardest thing she’s ever done. Karen steps back, light-headed, and rakes her eyes over him. His pupils are blown, short hair in disarray, breathing hard. He stares at her with shining lips and a flush that reaches the tips of his ears. 

“S-sorry, guys,” she says, breathless. Karen takes Frank’s hand and gives the two men an embarrassed look. “We just wanted to get somewhere…private.”

“Well get a fucking room. Get out of here,” the second guy scowls, jerking his thumb to the stairs. 

“Okay, thank you! Sorry!” 

Karen pulls the still stunned Frank down the stairs, and it’s not until they’re safely outside the club that Frank speaks again. 

“We’re not doin’ that again,” he says weakly, then clears his throat. “The, uh, the sneaking into places thing. Not the uh, the other thing.”

“The first thing kind of comes with the second thing, Frank,” Karen tells him cheerfully. “Now come on, I have to send this to Ellison.”


	47. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompted: 75. Kisses Meant To Distract The Other Person From Whatever They Were Intently Doing for Kastle please!

Watching Frank pack a bag makes Karen a little crazy, if she thinks about it too hard. There’s something about watching him shove tactical clothes, guns, ammo, and a wide array of other tools into a duffle that says, _this time he might not come back_. 

“Karen,” Frank groans when she slips her arms around his waist. “Come on, sweetheart, you know I gotta go.”

Karen places a soft kiss to his bare shoulder, then rests her cheek against it with a frown. “Leave in the morning,” she says quietly. “Stay the night.”

Frank straightens, then turns to face her with a frown. “Kare–”

She leans up and kisses him before he can say any more, pulling him down to her. The kiss is brief, and then she pulls away just enough to place another on his cheek. Then another, on the bridge of his nose. Frank sighs quietly, hands sliding from her shoulders to the dip in her waist. 

“Stay,” she pleads, holding his face in her hands. His stubble is rough on her palms. 

Frank rests his forehead to hers, closing his eyes briefly. For a moment, she thinks he’ll agree. Then he’s turning away and throwing on a shirt. Karen hugs herself, watching him with a dejected frown. 

Frank finishes packing and hefts the strap of the duffle onto his shoulder. He turns and looks at her, hesitant. She sees the regret on his face–the regret at leaving her alone, at denying her. Karen looks away pushes her hair back habitually. She hates this part. 

Frank stalks over catches her lips once more. It feels like too much of a permanent goodbye, and Karen pushes at his shoulder. Anger makes her blood boil. He steps back and frowns at her. “Karen, c’mon–”

“Don’t get yourself killed,” she snaps, turning away. Her anger is unwarranted, she knows. Karen chose him–lifestyle and all. It’s unfair for her to act this way right before he leaves. Before she can take it back, she hears his frustrated sigh, and then the bedroom door snaps shut. In the other room, she hears his heavy footsteps gathering last minute items, and then the front door closes. 

Her control lasts barely thirty seconds before she sprints out the door and to the elevator, where he’s waiting with stiff shoulders. 

“Frank,” she calls, and then throws her arms around him before he’s turned completely. He gathers her up tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Karen sniffles against his shoulder. 

“Thought you weren’t gonna say goodbye,” Frank murmurs quietly, squeezing her tighter. 

“Shut up,” she sniffs. “And just come home safe.”

“Yes, ma’am.”


	48. Ideas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @frank-kastle on tumblr (sara ♡) prompted: kastle + no. 62 from the prompt list :') (62. lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up)

Karen is pleased to find, after the second night of Frank staying the night with her, that he is not a morning person. If there’s nowhere to be, he is content to lay in bed with her, sleeping the morning away. Karen is happy to oblige him–and yet there are some days where she wakes first and can’t help but watch him. 

This morning, she’s draped across Frank’s bare chest. It’s a Sunday, and the sun is shining through the blinds. She can tell he’s awake by the fingers that drag languidly up and down her spine, but his eyes are closed. Karen watches his peaceful expression with a tired smile. 

“What’re you lookin’ at?” he mumbles after some time. Karen’s smile widens. 

“How do you know I’m looking?”

“Gut feelin’.” Frank peeks open an eye to look at her. His one-eyed squint, coupled with his ridiculous bedhead and shadow across his jaw is too much for her.

Karen leans up and kisses him, unable to help herself. Seeing him like this, utterly content and relaxed, awakens something warm and soft in her chest. His hand stills on the base of her spine, and he kisses back slowly, taking his time. Karen can’t know how long they lose to the kiss, but by the time she’s pulled away, he’s smiling at her ruefully. 

“I love you,” she tells him softly. 

Frank brushes a thumb over her cheek, chest rising with his chuckle. “Love you. We goin’ back to sleep, or you got other ideas?”

“Oh, I’ve got some other ideas.”


	49. Signals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompted: 26. jealous kiss

Karen stares down at the email on her phone with a frown, shifting from foot to foot. Frank stands at her side, hands shoved in his pockets. There’s almost half a dozen people milling about around them, waiting for the crosswalk to switch to green. It’s the dead of summer in the Kitchen, and even in her shorts and tank top, Karen is _miserable_. 

After a moment she decides the email is too much brain power when she’s this hot, and tosses her phone in her purse. She retrieves a hair tie and yanks her hair up into a ponytail, sighing gratefully as the breeze hits the back of her neck. Karen will be more than happy when they’re home and in her nice, freezing cold apartment. 

Frank makes a small noise of annoyance at her side, which she attributes to the heat. She turns to look at him.

“I know, isn’t it–”

Karen suddenly finds her sentence cut off as Frank’s lips meet her own, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. She scarcely has any time to be embarrassed at his blatant PDA, because the way he’s kissing her makes her heat-addled brain short circuit more than she thought possible. By the time he pulls away, there’s an entirely new group of people around them, and more than a couple people are giving them a wide berth. 

“Frank,” she hisses, scandalized. Karen flushes, glancing around. “What was that for??”

He shrugs one shoulder innocently, turning back to the signal. “Some kid was lookin’ at you. Didn’t like it.”

Karen blinks. And then blinks again, aghast. “You–we–we missed the signal because you were _jealous_?”

“We’ll catch the next one,” Frank says lightly, amused. He tosses her a smirk that brings a whole different kind of heat to her. “Unless you wanna miss another.”

“Don’t you dare,” she tells him, huffing. “If we miss one more light, I might just pass out right here on the sidewalk.”

Frank gestures when the light finally turns green. “After you,” he tells her, and Karen thinks, _once we’re home he’s so getting payback_ before stalking across the street. 

Frank’s quiet laugh follows her the whole way. 


	50. Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mads (@radar-technician) requested: kastle + dogwalking

It’s always been hard for Karen to stop and smell the roses, as it were. 

She’s always on the move. Ever since she was a teenager, there’s been a certain drive in her that pushes her and pushes her. Something that keeps her constantly busy. (Once, a therapist had mentioned that it’s because if she’s always on the move, she can’t rest long enough to unpack a lost brother, distant mother, drinking father. Karen never went back after the first session.) 

So taking a moment to literally stop and smell the roses is—well…new. 

“Which ones do y’like?” Frank says in her ear. His palm is warm on her hip. She’s bent over a small bodega down the street from her place, and Max—their pitbull—curls around their ankles to sniff curiously at the flowers. 

Karen lets her eyes drift over the colorful stand, a small smile pulling at her lips. Before she can help herself, she points at the white roses and within moments Frank has paid for them and placed them in her arms. 

They set off down the sidewalk once more, Max trailing ahead at a happy jilt. Karen buries her face in the flowers happily, arm and arm with Frank. It’s fairly late in the day, but it does nothing for the crowded sidewalk around them. By now, almost a year after the carousel, Frank has a healthy dose of wariness out in public. Enough that he’s constantly aware, but able to relax with her, tell her about his day and ask about hers. 

A few blocks away, they reach the dog park. Max gets sets free and Frank guides Karen to a small bench out of the way. His arm drapes over her shoulder and Karen sits and thinks, _this is nice_. _This is wonderful._ She’s said the words before she can help it. 

“I love you,” she says softly into his shoulder, peeking up at his expression. 

Frank turns to look at her, surprised. His dark eyes sweep over his face, and a slow grin makes his way across his lips. “Well hey,” he says warmly, placing a kiss on her temple, “I love you too.” 

Karen feels a heat blossom in her chest. She’s known for ages he does, but saying it out loud is something new. When there’s no bullets flying and no danger on the horizon. When they’re just two people in love, sitting and watching their puppy run around like a maniac—that’s something new. 

Karen grins and lowers her head once more, inhaling the sweet perfume of the bouquet in her arms. It’s time she starts stopping and smelling the roses more often. 

And watching as Max trots over to play fetch with his new found stick, she thinks, _I intend to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 50 marks the end of this series, folks! I figure I might as well start another now that I've hit this many. The next series will be titled "Only love, could heal our brokenness" & you can find it under the same pen name :) Thank you for reading, subscribing and commenting!


End file.
